HtK 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 


THE 

BLIND    BROTHER 

&  Storg  of 

THE  PENNSYLVANIA  COAL  MINES. 


BY 

HOMER  GREENE. 


The  author  received  for  this  story  the  First  Prize,  Fifteen  Hundred 

Dollars,  offered  by  the  YOUTH'S  COMPANION  in  i88b, 

for  the  Best  Serial  Story. 


NEW  YORK: 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    CO., 
13  ASTOR  PLACE. 


COPYRIGHT,  1887, 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 


RAND  AVERY  COMPANY, 

ELECTROTYPERS  AND  PRINTERS, 

BOSTON. 


TO 

MY     MOTHER, 

WHOSE  TENDER  CARE  AND  UNSELFISH  DEVOTION 

MADE   HAPPY   THE  DAYS   OF  MY 

OWN   BOYHOOD, 


fa  Book  far  Bogs 


IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED, 
BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


HONESDALE,  PENN.,  April  6,  1887. 


2034546 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  LOST  IN  THE  MINE 1 1 

II.  THE  BURNED  BREAKER 30 

III.  THE  UNQUIET  CONSCIENCE 54 

IV.  THE  TRIAL 77 

V.  THE  VERDICT 101 

VI.  THE  FALL 123 

VII.  THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH 146 

VIII.  OUT  OF  DARKNESS  .                                    .  168 


DICK,   THE   DOOR-BOY 191 


THE     BLIND     BROTHER 


CHAPTER   I. 

LOST    IN    THE    MINE. 

THE  Dryden  Mine,  in  the  Susquehanna 
coal-fields  of  Pennsylvania,  was  worked 
out  and  abandoned  long  ago.  To-day  its 
headings  and  airways  and  chambers  echo 
only  to  the  occasional  fall  of  loosened  slate, 
or  to  the  drip  of  water  from  the  roof.  Its 
pillars,  robbed  by  retreating  workmen,  are 
crumbling  and  rusty,  and  those  of  its  props 
which  are  still  standing  have  become 
mouldy  and  rotten.  The  rats  that  once 
scampered  through  its  galleries  deserted  it 
along  with  human  kind,  and  its  very  name, 
from  long  disuse,  has  acquired  an  unaccus- 
tomed sound. 

But    twenty   years    ago    there    was    no 


12  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

busier  mine  than  the  Dryden  from  Carbon- 
dale  to  Nanticoke.  Two  hundred  and 
thirty  men  and  boys  went  by  the  slope  into 
it  every  morning,  and  came  out  from  it 
every  night.  They  were  simple  and  un- 
learned, these  men  and  boys,  rugged  and 
rude,  rough  and  reckless  at  times,  but 
manly,  heroic,  and  kindhearted. 

Up  in  the  Lackawanna  region  a  strike 
had  been  in  progress  for  nearly  two  weeks. 
Efforts  had  been  made  by  the  strikers  to 
persuade  the  miners  down  the  valley  to 
join  them,  but  at  first  without  success. 

Then  a  committee  of  one  hundred  came 
down  to  appeal  and  to  intimidate.  In 
squads  of  ten  or  more  they  visited  the 
mines  in  the  region,  and,  in  the  course  of 
their  journeyings,  had  come  to  the  Dryden 
Slope.  They  had  induced  the  miners  to 
go  out  at  all  the  workings  they  had  thus 
far  entered,  and  were  no  less  successful 
here.  It  required  persuasion,  sometimes 
threats,  sometimes,  indeed,  even  blows,  for 
the  miners  in  Dryden  Slope  had  no  cause 
of  complaint  against  their  employers ;  they 
earned  good  wages,  and  were  content. 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  13 

But,  twenty  years  ago,  miners  who  kept 
at  work  against  the  wishes  of  their  fellows 
while  a  strike  was  in  progress,  were  called 
"  black-legs,"  were  treated  with  contempt, 
waylaid  and  beaten,  and  sometimes  killed. 

So  the  men  in  the  Dryden  Mine  yielded  ; 
and  soon,  down  the  chambers  and  along 
the  headings,  toward  the  foot  of  the  slope, 
came  little  groups,  with  dinner-pails  and 
tools,  discussing  earnestly,  often  bitterly, 
the  situation  and  the  prospect. 

The  members  of  a  party  of  fifteen  or 
twenty,  that  came  down  the  airway  from  the 
tier  of  chambers  on  the  new  north  heading, 
were  holding  an  especially  animated  con- 
versation. Fully  one-half  of  the  men 
were  visiting  strikers.  They  were  all 
walking,  in  single  file,  along  the  route  by 
which  the  mine-cars  went. 

For  some  distance  from  the  new  cham- 
bers the  car-track  was  laid  in  the  airway ; 
then  it  turned  down  through  an  entrance 
into  the  heading,  and  from  that  point  fol- 
lowed the  heading  to  the  foot  of  the  slope. 
Where  the  route  crossed  from  the  airway 
to  the  heading,  the  space  between  the 


14  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

pillars  had  been  carefully  boarded  across, 
so  that  the  air  current  should  not  be  turned 
aside ;  and  a  door  had  been  placed  in  the 
boarding,  to  be  opened  whenever  the  cars 
approached,  and  shut  as  soon  as  they  had 
passed  by. 

That  door  was  attended  by  a  boy. 

To  this  point  the  party  had  now  come, 
and  one  by  one  filed  through  the  opening, 
while  Bennie,  the  door-boy,  stood  holding 
back  the  door  to  let  them  pass. 

"  Ho,  Jack,  tak'  the  door-boy  wi'  ye ! " 
shouted  some  one  in  the  rear. 

The  great,  broad-shouldered,  rough- 
bearded  man  who  led  the  procession  turned 
back  to  where  Bennie,  apparently  lost  in 
astonishment  at  this  unusual  occurrence, 
still  stood,  with  his  hand  on  the  door. 

"  Come  along,  lad  !  "  he  said  ;  "  come 
along !  Ye'll  have  a  gret  play-spell  noo." 

"  I  can't  leave  the  door,  sir,"  answered 
Bennie.  "  The  cars'll  be  comin'  soon." 

"  Ye  need  na  min'  the  cars.  Come  along 
wi'  ye,  I  say !  " 

"  But  I  can't  go  till  Tom  comes,  anyway, 
you  know." 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  I  5 

The  man  came  a  step  closer.  He  had 
the  frame  of  a  giant.  The  others  who 
passed  by  were  like  children  beside  him. 
Then  one  of  the  men  who  worked  in  the 
mine,  and  who  knew  Bennie,  came  through 
the  doorway,  the  last  in  the  group,  and 
said,  — 

"  Don't  hurt  the  boy ;  let  him  alone. 
His  brother'll  take  him  out ;  he  always 
does." 

All  this  time  Bennie  stood  quite  still, 
with  his  hand  on  the  door,  never  turning 
his  head. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  for  a  boy  to  stand 
motionless  like  that,  and  look  neither  to 
the  right  nor  the  left,  while  an  excited 
group  of  men  passed  by,  one  of  whom 
had  stopped  and  approached  him,  as  if  he 
meant  him  harm.  It  roused  the  curiosity 
of  "  Jack  the  Giant,"  as  the  miners  called 
him,  and,  plucking  his  lamp  from  his  cap, 
he  flashed  the  light  of  it  up  into  Bennie's 
face. 

The  boy  did  not  stir ;  no  muscle  of  his 
face  moved ;  even  his  eyes  remained  open 
and  fixed. 


1 6  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

"  Why,  lad  !  lad  !  What's  the  matter  wi' 
ye  ?  "  There  was  tenderness  in  the  giant's 
voice  as  he  spoke,  and  tenderness  in  his 
bearded  face  as  Bennie  answered,  — 

"  Don't  you  know  ?     I'm  blind." 

"  Blind  !     An'  a-workin'  i'  the  mines  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  body  don't  have  to  see  to  'tend 
door,  you  know.  All  I've  to  do  is  to  open 
it  when  I  hear  the  cars  a-comin',  an'  to 
shut  it  when  they  get  by." 

"  Aye,  that's  true ;  but  ye  did  na  get 
here  alone.  Who  helpit  ye  ?  " 

Bennie's  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure,  as 
he  answered,  — 

"  Oh,  that's  Tom !  He  helps  me.  I 
couldn't  get  along  without  him  ;  I  couldn't 
do  any  thing  without  Tom." 

The  man's  interest  and  compassion  had 
grown,  as  the  conversation  lengthened,  and 
he  was  charmed  by  the  voice  of  the  child. 
It  had  in  it  that  touch  of  pathos  that  often 
lingers  in  the  voices  of  the  blind.  He 
would  hear  more  of  it. 

"  Sit  ye,  lad,"  he  said ;  "  sit  ye,  an'  tell 
me  aboot  Tom,  an'  aboot  yoursel',  an'  a'  ye 
can  remember." 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  I'J 

Then  they  sat  down  on  the  rude  bench 
together,  with  the  roughly  hewn  pillar  of 
coal  at  their  backs,  blind  Bennie  and  Jack 
Rennie,  the  giant,  and  while  one  told  the 
story  of  his  blindness,  and  his  blessings, 
and  his  hopes,  the  other  listened  with 
tender  earnestness,  almost  with  tears. 

Bennie  told  first  about  Tom,  his  brother, 
who  was  fourteen  years  old,  two  years  older 
than  himself.  Tom  was  so  good  to  him ; 
and  Tom  could  see,  could  see  as  well  as 
anybody.  "Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "Tom 
can  see  every  thing  !  " 

Then  he  told  about  his  blindness ;  how 
he  had  been  blind  ever  since  he  could 
remember.  But  there  wras  a  doctor,  he 
said,  who  came  up  once  from  Philadelphia 
to  visit  Major  Dryden,  before  the  major 
died ;  and  he  had  chanced  to  see  Tom  and 
Bennie  up  by  the  mines,  and  had  looked 
at  Bennie's  eyes,  and  said  he  thought,  if 
the  boy  could  go  to  Philadelphia  and  have 
treatment,  that  sight  might  be  restored. 

Tom  asked  how  much  it  would  cost,  and 
the  doctor  said,  "  Oh,  maybe  a  hundred 
dollars ; "  and  then  some  one  came  and 


1 8  THE  BUND  BROTHER. 

called  the  doctor  away,  and  they  had  never 
seen  him  since. 

But  Tom  resolved  that  Bennie  should  go 
to  Philadelphia,  if  ever  he  could  save  money 
enough  to  send  him. 

Tom  was  a  driver-boy  in  Dryden  Slope, 
and  his  meagre  earnings  went  mostly  to 
buy  food  and  clothing  for  the  little  family. 
But  the  dollar  or  two  that  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  spend  each  month  for  him- 
self he  began  now  to  lay  aside  for  Bennie. 

Bennie  knew  about  it,  of  course,  and 
rejoiced  greatly  at  the  prospect  in  store  for 
him,  but  expressed  much  discontent  be- 
cause he,  himself,  could  not  help  to  obtain 
the  fund  which  was  to  cure  him.  Then 
Tom,  with  the  aid  of  the  kindhearted  mine 
superintendent,  found  employment  for  his 
brother  as  a  door-boy  in  Dryden  Slope,  and 
Bennie  was  happy.  It  wasn't  absolutely 
necessary  that  a  door-boy  should  see ;  if 
he  had  good  hearing  he  could  get  along 
very  well. 

So  every  morning  Bennie  went  down  the 
slope  with  Tom,  and  climbed  into  an  empty 
mine-car,  and  Tom's  mule  drew  them,  rat- 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  19 

tling  along  the  heading,  till  they  reached, 
almost  a  mile  from  the  foot  of  the  slope, 
the  doorway  where  Bennie  staid. 

Then  Tom  went  on,  with  the  empty  cars, 
up  to  the  new  tier  of  chambers,  and  brought 
the  loaded  cars  back.  Every  day  he  passed 
through  Bennie's  doorway  on  three  round 
trips  in  the  forenoon,  and  three  round  trips 
in  the  afternoon  ;  and  every  day,  when  the 
noon-hour  came,  he  stopped  on  the  down- 
trip,  and  sat  with  Bennie  on  the  bench  by 
the  door,  and  both  ate  from  one  pail  the 
dinner  prepared  for  them  by  their  mother. 

When  quitting  time  came,  and  Tom  went 
down  to  the  foot  of  the  slope  with  his  last 
trip  for  the  day,  Bennie  climbed  to  the  top 
of  a  load,  and  rode  out,  or  else,  with  his 
hands  on  the  last  car  of  the  trip,  walked 
safely  along  behind. 

"  And  Tom  and  me  together  have  a'most 
twenty  dollars  saved  now ! "  said  the  boy 
exultingly.  "  An'  we've  only  got  to  get 
eighty  dollars  more,  an'  then  I  can  go  an' 
buy  back  the  sight  into  my  eyes ;  an'  then 
Tom  an'  me  we're  goin'  to  work  together 
all  our  lives.  Tom,  he's  goin'  to  get  a 


20  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

chamber  an'  be  a  miner,  an'  I'm  goin'  to 
be  Tom's  laborer  till  I  learn  how  to  mine, 
an'  then  we're  goin'  to  take  a  contract 
together,  an'  hire  laborers,  an'  get  rich,  an' 
then  —  why,  then  Mommie  won't  have  to 
work  any  more  !  " 

It  was  like  a  glimpse  of  a  better  world 
to  hear  this  boy  talk.  The  most  favored 
child  of  wealth  that  ever  revelled  seeing  in 
the  sunlight  has  had  no  hope,  no  courage, 
no  sublimity  of  faith,  that  could  compare 
with  those  of  this  blind  son  of  poverty  and 
toil.  He  had  his  high  ambition,  and  that 
was  to  work.  He  had  his  sweet  hope  to 
be  fulfilled,  and  that  was  to  see.  He  had 
his  earthly  shrine,  and  that  was  where  his 
mother  sat.  And  he  had  his  hero  of 
heroes,  and  that  was  Tom. 

There  was  no  quality  of  human  good- 
ness, or  bravery,  or  excellence  of  any  kind, 
that  he  did  not  ascribe  to  Tom.  He  would 
sooner  have  disbelieved  all  of  his  four  re- 
maining senses  than  have  believed  that  Tom 
would  say  an  unkind  word  to  Mommie  or 
to  him,  or  be  guilty  of  a  mean  act  towards 
any  one. 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  21 

Bennie's  faith  in  Tom  was  fully  justified. 
No  nineteenth  century  boy  could  have 
been  more  manly,  no  knight  of  old  could 
have  been  more  true  and  tender,  than  was 
Tom  to  the  two  beings  whom  he  loved 
best  upon  all  the  earth. 

"  But  the  father,  laddie,"  said  Jack, 
still  charmed  and  curious ;  "  whaur's  the 
father  ?  " 

"  Dead,"  answered  Bennie.  "  He  came 
from  the  old  country  first,  an'  then  he  sent 
for  Mommie  an'  us,  an'  w'en  we  got  here 
he  was  dead." 

"  Ah,  but  that  was  awfu'  sad  for  the 
mither !  Took  wi'  the  fever,  was  he  ?  " 

"  No  ;  killed  in  the  mine.  Top  coal  fell 
an'  struck  him.  That's  the  way  they  found 
him.  We  didn't  see  him,  you  know.  That 
was  two  weeks  before  me  an'  Tom  an' 
Mommie  got  here.  I  wasn't  but  four  years 
old  then,  but  I  can  remember  how  Mom- 
mie cried.  She  didn't  have  much  time  to 
cry,  though,  'cause  she  had  to  work  so  hard. 
Mommie's  al'ays  had  to  work  so  hard," 
added  Bennie,  reflectively. 

The  man  began  to  move,  nervously,  on 


22  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

the  bench.  It  was  apparent  that  some 
strong  emotion  was  taking  hold  of  him. 
He  lifted  the  lamp  from  his  cap  again  and 
held  it  up  close  to  Bennie's  face. 

"  Killed,  said  ye  —  i'  the  mine  —  top  coal 
fell?" 

"  Yes,  an*  struck  him  on  the  head  ;  they 
said  he  didn't  ever  know  what  killed  him." 

The  brawny  hand  trembled  so  that  the 
flame  from  the  spout  of  the  little  lamp  went 
up  in  tiny  waves. 

"Whaur — whaur  happenit  it  —  i'  what 
place  —  i'  what  mine  ?" 

"  Up  in  Carbondale.  No.  6  shaft,  I  think 
it  was  ;  yes,  No.  6." 

Bennie  spoke  somewhat  hesitatingly. 
His  quick  ear  had  caught  the  change  in 
the  man's  voice,  and  he  did  not  know  what 
it  could  mean. 

"  His  name,  lad !  gi'  me  the  father's 
name ! " 

The  giant's  huge  hand  dropped  upon 
Bennie's  little  one,  and  held  it  in  a  painful 
grasp.  The  boy  started  to  his  feet  in  fear. 

"  You  won't  hurt  me,  sir!  Please  don't 
hurt  me  ;  I  can't  see !  " 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  2$ 

"  Not  for  the  warld,  lad ;  not  for  the 
whole  warld.  But  I  must  ha'  the  father's 
name ;  tell  me  the  father's  name,  quick !  " 

"  Thomas  Taylor,  sir,"  said  Bennie,  as  he 
sank  back,  trembling,  on  the  bench. 

The  lamp  dropped  from  Jack  Rennie's 
hand,  and  lay  smoking  at  his  feet.  His 
hugh  frame  seemed  to  have  shrunk  by  at 
least  a  quarter  of  its  size ;  and  for  many 
minutes  he  sat,  silent  and  motionless,  see- 
ing as  little  of  the  objects  around  him  as 
did  the  blind  boy  at  his  side. 

At  last  he  roused  himself,  picked  up  his 
lamp,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Well,  lad,  Bennie,  I  mus'  be  a-goin' ; 
good-by  till  ye.  Will  the  brither  come  for 
ye?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  answered  Bennie,  "Tom 
al'ays  stops  for  me ;  he  aint  come  up  from 
the  foot  yet,  but  he'll  come." 

Rennie  turned  away,  then  turned  back 
again. 

"  Whaur's  the  lamp  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  have 
ye  no  licht?" 

"  No  ;  I  don't  ever  have  any.  It  wouldn't 
be  any  good  to  me,  you  know." 


24  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

Once  more  the  man  started  down  the 
heading,  but,  after  he  had  gone  a  short  dis- 
tance, a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him,  and 
he  came  back  to  where  Bennie  was  still 
sitting. 

"  Lad,  I  thocht  to  tell  ye  ;  ye  s'all  go  to 
the  city  wi'  your  eyes.  I  ha'  money  to  sen' 
ye,  an'  ye  s'all  go.  I  —  I — knew  —  the 
father,  lad." 

Before  Bennie  could  express  his  surprise 
and  gratitude,  he  felt  a  strong  hand  laid 
gently  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  rough, 
bearded  face  pressed  for  a  moment  against 
his  own,  and  then  his  strange  visitor  was 
gone. 

Down  the  heading  the  retreating  foot- 
steps echoed,  their  sound  swallowed  up  at 
last  in  the  distance ;  and  up  at  Bennie's 
doorway  silence  reigned. 

For  a  long  time  the  boy  sat,  pondering 
the  meaning  of  the  strange  man's  words 
and  conduct.  But  the  more  he  thought 
about  it  the  less  able  was  he  to  understand 
it.  Perhaps  Tom  could  explain  it,  though  ; 
yes,  he  would  tell  Tom  about  it.  Then  it 
occurred  to  him  that  it  was  long  past  time 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER,  2$ 

for  Tom  to  come  up  from  the  foot  with  his 
last  trip  for  the  day.  It  was  strange,  too, 
that  the  men  should  all  go  out  together 
that  way  ;  he  didn't  understand  it.  But  if 
Tom  would  only  come  — 

He  rose  and  walked  down  the  heading 
a  little  way ;  then  he  turned  and  went  up 
through  the  door  and  along  the  airway ; 
then  he  came  back  to  his  bench  again,  and 
sat  down. 

He  was  sure  Tom  would  come ;  Tom 
had  never  disappointed  him  yet,  and  he 
knew  he  would  not  disappoint  him  for  the 
world  if  he  could  help  it.  He  knew,  too, 
that  it  was  long  after  quitting-time,  and 
there  hadn't  been  a  sound,  that  he  could 
hear,  in  the  mine  for  an  hour,  though  he 
had  listened  carefully. 

After  a  while  he  began  to  grow  nervous  ; 
the  stillness  became  oppressive ;  he  could 
not  endure  it.  He  determined  to  try  to 
find  the  way  out  by  himself.  He  had 
walked  to  the  foot  of  the  slope  alone  once, 
the  day  Tom  was  sick,  and  he  thought  he 
could  do  it  again. 

So   he   made   sure   that   his    door   was 


26  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

tightly  closed,  then  he  took  his  dinner-pail, 
and  started  bravely  down  the  heading, 
striking  the  rails  of  the  mine  car-track  on 
each  side  with  his  cane  as  he  went  along, 
to  guide  him. 

Sometimes  he  would  stop  and  listen,  for 
a  moment,  if,  perchance,  he  might  hear 
Tom  coming  to  meet  him,  or,  possibly, 
some  belated  laborer  going  out  from  an- 
other part  of  the  mine ;  then,  hearing 
nothing,  he  would  trudge  on  again. 

After  a  long  time  spent  thus,  he  thought 
he  must  be  near  the  foot  of  the  slope ;  he 
knew  he  had  walked  far  enough  to  be 
there.  He  was  tired,  too,  and  sat  down  on 
the  rail  to  rest.  But  he  did  not  sit  there 
long ;  he  could  not  bear  the  silence,  it  was 
too  depressing,  and  after  a  very  little  while 
he  arose  and  walked  on.  The  caps  in  the 
track  grew  higher ;  once  he  stumbled  over 
one  of  them  and  fell,  striking  his  side  on 
the  rail.  He  was  in  much  pain  for  a  few 
minutes ;  then  he  recovered  and  went  on 
more  carefully,  lifting  his  feet  high  with 
every  step,  and  reaching  ahead  with  his 
cane.  But  his  progress  was  v£ry  slow. 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  2 7 

Then  there  came  upon  him  the  sensation 
of  being  in  a  strange  place.  It  did  not 
seem  like  the  heading  along  which  he  went 
to  and  from  his  daily  work.  He  reached 
out  with  his  cane  upon  each  side,  and 
touched  nothing.  Surely,  there  was  no 
place  in  the  heading  so  wide  as  that. 

But  he  kept  on. 

By-and-by  he  became  aware  that  he  was 
going  down  a  steep  incline.  The  echoes 
of  his  footsteps  had  a  hollow  sound,  as 
though  he  were  in  some  wide,  open  space, 
and  his  cane  struck  one,  two,  three,  props 
in  succession.  Then  he  knew  he  was 
somewhere  in  a  chamber ;  and  knew,  too, 
that  he  was  lost. 

He  sat  down,  feeling  weak  and  faint, 
and  tried  to  think.  He  remembered  that, 
at  a  point  in  the  heading  about  two-thirds 
of  the  way  to  the  foot,  a  passage  branched 
off  to  the  right,  crossed  under  the  slope, 
and  ran  out  into  the  southern  part  of  the 
mine,  where  he  had  never  been.  He 
thought  he  must  have  turned  into  this 
cross-heading,  and  followed  it,  and  if  he 
had,  it  would  be  hard  indeed  to  tell  where 


28  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

he  now  was.  He  did  not  know  whether  to 
go  on  or  to  turn  back. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  after  all,  to 
sit  still  until  help  should  come,  though  it 
might  be  hours,  or  even  days,  before  any 
one  would  find  him. 

Then  came  a  new  thought.  What  would 
Tom  do  ?  Tom  would  not  know  where  he 
had  gone ;  he  would  never  think  of  look- 
ing for  him  away  off  here ;  he  would  go 
up  the  heading  to  the  door,  and  not  finding 
him  there,  would  think  that  his  brother  had 
already  gone  home.  But  when  he  knew 
that  Bennie  was  not  at  home,  he  would 
surely  come  back  to  the  mine  to  search 
for  him ;  he  would  come  down  the  slope ; 
maybe  he  was,  at  that  very  moment,  at  the 
foot ;  maybe  Tom  would  hear  him  if  he 
should  call,  "  Tom  !  O  Tom  !  " 

The  loudest  thunder-burst  could  not 
have  been  more  deafening  to  the  fright- 
ened child  than  the  sound  of  his  own  voice, 
as  it  rang  out  through  the  solemn  stillness 
of  the  mine,  and  was  hurled  back  to  his 
ears  by  the  solid  masses  of  rock  and  coal 
that  closed  in  around  him. 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  29 

A  thousand  echoes  went  rattling  down 
the  wide  chambers  and  along  the  narrow 
galleries,  and  sent  back  their  ghosts  to  play 
upon  the  nervous  fancy  of  the  frightened 
child.  He  would  not  have  shouted  like 
that  again  if  his  life  had  depended  on  it. 

Then  silence  fell  upon  him ;  silence  like 
a  pall  —  oppressive,  mysterious  and  awful 
silence,  in  which  he  could  almost  hear  the 
beating  of  his  own  heart.  He  could  not 
endure  that.  He  grasped  his  cane  again 
and  started  on,  searching  for  a  path,  stum- 
bling over  caps,  falling  sometimes,  but  on 
and  on,  though  never  so  slowly ;  on  and 
on  until,  faint  and  exhausted,  he  sank 
down  upon  the  damp  floor  of  the  mine, 
with  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  wept,  in 
silent  agony,  like  the  lost  child  that  he 
was. 

Lost,  indeed,  with  those  miles  and  miles 
of  black  galleries  opening  and  winding  and 
crossing  all  around  him,  and  he,  lying  pros- 
trate and  powerless,  alone  in  the  midst  of 
that  desolation. 


30  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  BURNED  BREAKER. 

FOR  a  long  time  Bennie  lay  there,  piti- 
fully weeping.  Then,  away  off  somewhere 
in  the  mine,  he  heard  a  noise.  He  lifted 
his  head.  By  degrees  the  noise  grew 
louder;  then  it  sounded  almost  like  foot- 
steps. Suppose  it  were  some  one  com- 
ing ;  suppose  it  were  Tom !  The  light 
of  hope  flashed  up  in  Bennie's  breast  with 
the  thought. 

But  the  sound  ceased,  the  stillness  set- 
tled down  more  profoundly  than  before, 
and  about  the  boy's  heart  the  fear  and 
loneliness  came  creeping  back.  Was  it 
possible  that  the  noise  was  purely  imagin- 
ary ? 

Suddenly,  tripping  down  the  passages, 
bounding  from  the  walls,  echoing  through 
the  chambers,  striking  faintly,  but,  oh,  how 


THE   BLIND  BROTHER.  31 

sweetly,  upon  Bennie's  ears,  came  the  well- 
known  call,  — 

"  Ben-nie-e-e-e ! " 

The  sound  died  away  in  a  faint  succes- 
sion of  echoing  ^'s. 

Bennie  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  cry. 

"  Tom  !  Tom  !  Tom,  here  I  am." 

Before  the  echoes  of  his  voice  came  back 
to  him  they  were  broken  by  the  sound  of 
running  feet,  and  down  the  winding  galler- 
ies came  Tom,  as  fast  as  his  lamp  and  his 
legs  would  take  him,  never  stopping  till  he 
and  Bennie  were  in  one  another's  arms. 

"  Bennie,  it  was  my  fault !  "  exclaimed 
Tom.  "  Patsy  Donnelly  told  me  you  went 
out  with  Sandy  McCulloch  while  I  was  up 
at  the  stables ;  an'  I  went  way  home,  an' 
Mommie  said  you  hadn't  been  there,  an'  I 
came  back  to  find  you,  an'  I  went  up  to 
your  door  an'  you  wasn't  there,  an'  I  called 
an'  called,  an'  couldn't  hear  no  answer ;  an' 
then  I  thought  maybe  you'd  tried  to  come 
out  alone,  an'  got  off  in  the  cross  headin' 
an'  got  lost,  an'  "  — 

Tom  stopped  from  sheer  lack  of  breath, 
and  Bennie  sobbed  out,  — 


32  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

"  I  did,  I  did  get  lost  an'  scared,  an'  — 
an'  —  O  Tom,  it  was  awful !  " 

The  thought  of  'what  he  had  experi- 
enced unnerved  Bennie  again,  and,  still 
holding  Tom's  hand,  he  sat  down  on  the 
floor  of  the  mine  and  wept  aloud. 

"There,  Bennie,  don't  cry!"  said  Tom, 
soothingly  ;  "  don't  cry  !  You're  found 
now.  Come,  jump  up  an'  le's  go  home ; 
Mommie'll  be  half-crazy."  It  was  touching 
to  see  the  motherly  way  in  which  this  boy 
of  fourteen  consoled  and  comforted  his 
weaker  brother,  and  helped  him  again  to 
his  feet.  With  his  arm  around  the  blind 
boy's  waist,  Tom  led  him  down,  through 
the  chambers,  out  into  the  south  heading, 
and  so  to  the  foot  of  the  slope. 

It  was  not  a  great  distance;  Bennie's 
progress  had  been  so  slow  that,  although 
he  had,  as  he  feared,  wandered  off  by  the 
cross  heading  into  the  southern  part  of 
the  mine,  he  had  not  been  able  to  get  very 
far  away. 

At  the  foot  of  the  slope  they  stopped  to 
rest,  and  Bennie  told  about  the  strange 
man  who  had  talked  with  him  at  the  door- 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  33 

way.  Tom  could  give  no  explanation  of 
the  matter,  except  that  the  man  must  have 
been  one  of  the  strikers.  The  meaning 
of  his  strange  conduct  he  could  no  more 
understand  than  could  Bennie. 

It  was  a  long  way  up  the  slope,  and  for 
more  than  half  the  distance  it  was  very 
steep ;  like  climbing  up  a  ladder.  Many 
times  on  the  upward  way  the  boys  stopped 
to  rest.  Always  when  he  heard  Bennie's 
breathing  grow  hard  and  laborious,  Tom 
would  complain  of  being  himself  tired,  and 
they  would  turn  about  and  sit  for  a  few 
moments  on  a  tie,  facing  down  the  slope. 

Out  at  last  into  the  quiet  autumn  night! 
Bennie  breathed  a  long  sigh  of  relief  when 
he  felt  the  yielding  soil  under  his  feet  and 
the  fresh  air  in  his  face. 

Ah !  could  he  but  have  seen  the  village 
lights  below  him,  the  glory  of  the  sky  and 
the  jewelry  of  stars  above  him,  and  the 
half  moon  slipping  up  into  the  heavens 
from  its  hiding-place  beyond  the  heights  of 
Campbell's  Ledge,  he  would,  indeed,  have 
known  how  sweet  and  beautiful  the  upper 
earth  is,  even  with  the  veil  of  night  across 


34  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

it,  compared  with  the  black  recesses  of  the 
mine. 

It  was  fully  a  mile  to  the  boys'  home ; 
but,  with  light  hearts  and  willing  feet,  they 
soon  left  the  distance  behind  them,  and 
reached  the  low-roofed  cottage,  where  the 
anxious  mother  waited  in  hope  and  fear 
for  the  coming  of  her  children. 

"  Here  we  are,  Mommie ! "  shouted 
Tom,  as  he  came  around  the  corner  and 
saw  her  standing  on  the  doorstep  in  the 
moonlight  watching.  Out  into  the  road 
she  ran  then,  and  gathered  her  two  boys 
into  her  arms,  kissed  their  grimy,  coal- 
blackened  faces,  and  listened  to  their  oft- 
interrupted  story,  with  smiles  and  with 
tears,  as  she  led  them  to  her  house. 

But  Tom  stopped  at  the  door  and  turned 
back. 

"  I  promised  Sandy  McCulloch,"  he  said, 
"  to  go  over  an'  tell  him  if  I  found  Bennie. 
He  said  he'd  wait  up  for  me,  an'  go  an* 
help  me  hunt  him  up  if  I  came  back  with- 
out him.  It's  only  just  over  beyond  the 
breaker;  it  won't  take  twenty  minutes, 
an'  Sandy'll  be  expcctin*  me." 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  35 

And  without  waiting  for  more  words, 
the  boy  started  off  on  a  run. 

It  was  already  past  ten  o'clock,  and  he 
had  not  had  a  mouthful  of  supper,  but 
that  was  nothing  in  consideration  of  the 
fact  that  Sandy  had  been  good  to  him,  and 
would  have  helped  him,  and  was,  even 
now,  waiting  for  him.  So,  with  a  light 
and  grateful  heart,  he  hurried  on. 

He  passed  beyond  the  little  row  of  cot- 
tages, of  which  his  mother's  was  one,  over 
the  hill  by  a  foot-path,  and  then  along  the 
mine  car-track  to  the  breaker.  Before 
him  the  great  building  loomed  up,  like 
some  huge  castle  of  old,  cutting  its  out- 
lines sharply  against  the  moon-illumined 
sky,  and  throwing  a  broad  black  shadow 
for  hundreds  of  feet  to  the  west. 

Through  the  shadow  went  Tom,  around 
by  the  engine-room;  where  the  watchman's 
light  was  glimmering  faintly  through  the 
grimy  window ;  out  again  into  the  moon- 
light, up,  by  a  foot-path,  to  the  summit  of 
another  hill,  along  by  another  row  of  dark- 
ened dwellings,  to  a  cottage  where  a  light 
was  still  burning,  and  there  he  stopped. 


36  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

The  door  opened  before  he  reached  it, 
and  a  man  in  shirt-sleeves  stepped  out  and 
hailed  him : 

"Is  that  you,  Tom?  An'  did  ye  find 
Bennie  ? " 

"  Yes,  Sandy.  I  came  to  tell  you  we 
just  got  home.  Found  him  down  in  the 
south  chambers ;  he  tried  to  come  out 
alone,  an'  got  lost.  So  I'll  not  need  you, 
Sandy,  with  the  same  thanks  as  if  I  did, 
an'  good- night  to  you  !  " 

"  Good-nicht  till  ye,  Tom  !  I'm  glad  the 
lad's  safe  wi'  the  mither.  Tom,"  as  the 
boy  turned  away,  "  ye'll  not  be  afeard  to 
be  goin'  home  alone  ?  " 

Tom  laughed. 

"Do  I  looked  scared,  Sandy?  Give 
yourself  no  fear  for  me ;  I'm  afraid  o' 
naught." 

Before  Sandy  turned  in  at  his  door, 
Tom  had  disappeared  below  the  brow  of 
the  hill.  The  loose  gravel  rolled  under 
his  feet  as  he  hurried  down,  and  once, 
near  the  bottom,  he  slipped  and  fell. 

As  he  rose,  he  was  astonished  to  see  the 
figure  of  a  man  steal  carefully  along  in 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  37 

the  shadow  of  the  breaker,  and  disappear 
around  the  corner  by  the  engine-room. 

Tom  went  down  cautiously  into  the 
shadow,  and  stopped  for  a  moment  in  the 
track  by  the  loading-place  to  listen.  He 
thought  he  heard  a  noise  in  there  ;  some- 
thing that  sounded  like  the  snapping  of 
dry  twigs. 

The  next  moment  a  man  came  out  from 
under  that  portion  of  the  breaker,  with  his 
head  turned  back  over  his  shoulder,  mut- 
tering, as  he  advanced  toward  Tom,  — 

"  There,  Mike,  that's  the  last  job  o'  that 
kind  I'll  do  for  all  the  secret  orders  i'  the 
waiT.  They  put  it  on  to  me  because  I've 
got  no  wife  nor  chilcler,  nor  ither  body  to 
cry  their  eyes  oot,  an'  I  get  i'  the  prison 
for  it.  But  I've  had  the  hert  o'  me  touched 
the  day,  Mike,  an'  I  canna  do  the  like  o' 
this  again  ;  it's  the  las'  time,  min'  ye,  the 
las'  time  I  —  Mike!  —  why,  that's  no' 
Mike !  Don't  ye  speak,  lad !  don't  ye 
whusper !  don't  ye  stir  !  " 

The  man  stepped  forward,  a  very  giant 
in  size,  with  a  great  beard  floating  on  his 
breast,  and  laid  his  brawny  hands  on 


38  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

Tom's  shoulders  with  a  grip  that  made 
the  lad  wince. 

Tom  did  not  stir ;  he  was  too  much 
frightened  for  one  thing,  too  much  aston- 
ished for  another.  For,  before  the  man 
had  finished  speaking,  there  appeared  un- 
der the  loading-place  in  the  breaker  a  lit- 
tle flickering  light,  and  the  light  grew  into 
a  flame,  and  the  flame  curled  around  the 
coal-black  timbers,  and  sent  up  little  red 
tongues  to  lick  the  cornice  of  the  long, 
low  roof.  Tom  was  so  astounded  that  he 
could  not  speak,  even  if  he  had  dared. 
But  this  giant  was  standing  over  him, 
gripping  his  shoulders  in  a  painful  clutch, 
and  saying  to  him,  in  a  voice  of  emphasis 
and  determination, — 

"  Do  ye  see  me,  lad  ?  Do  ye  hear  me  ? 
Then  I  say  to  ye,  tell  a  single  soul  what 
ye've  seen  here  the  night,  an'  the  life 
o'  ye's  not  worth  the  dust  i'  the  road. 
Whusper  a  single  word  o'  it,  an'  the  Molly 
Maguires  '11  tak'  terrible  revenge  o'  ye'! 
Noo,  then,  to  your  home !  Rin !  an'  gin 
ye  turn  your  head  or  speak,  ye  s'all  wish 
ye'd  'a'  been  i'  the  midst  o'  the  fire  instead." 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  4! 

With  a  vigorous  push,  he  sent  Tom  from 
him  at  full  speed  down  the  track. 

But  the  boy  had  not  gone  far  before  the 
curiosity  that  overtook  Lot's  wife  came 
upon  him,  and  he  turned  and  looked.  He 
was  just  in  time  to  see  and  hear  the  sleepy 
watchman  open  the  door  of  the  engine- 
room,  run  out,  give  one  startled  look  at 
the  flames  as  they  went  creeping  up  the 
long  slant  of  roof,  and  then  make  the  still 
night  echo  with  his  cry  of  "  Fire  !  " 

Before  twenty  minutes  had  passed,  the 
surrounding  hills  were  alive  with  people 
who  had  come  to  look  upon  the  burning 
breaker. 

The  spectacle  was  a  grand  one. 

For  many  minutes  the  fire  played  about 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  building,  among 
the  pockets  and  the  screens,  and  dashed 
up  against  the  base  of  the  shaft-tower  like 
lapping  waves.  Then  the  small  square 
windows,  dotting  the  black  surface  of  the 
breaker  here  and  there  up  its  seventy  feet 
of  height,  began  to  redden  and  to  glow 
with  the  mounting  flames  behind  them  ; 
a  column  of  white  smoke  broke  from  the 


42  THE  BUND  BROTHER. 

topmost  cornice,  little  red  tongues  \vent 
creeping  up  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  the 
tower,  and  then  from  the  highest  point  of 
all  a  great  column  of  fire  shot  far  up  to- 
ward the  onlooking  stars,  and  the  whole 
gigantic  building  was  a  single  body  of 
roaring,  wavering  flame. 

It  burned  rapidly  and  brilliantly,  and 
soon  after  midnight  there  was  but  a  mass 
of  charred  ruins  covering  the  ground  where 
once  the  breaker  stood. 

There  was  little  that  could  be  saved; 
the  cars  in  the  loading-place,  the  tools 
in  the  engine-room,  some  loose  lumber, 
and  the  household  effects  from  a  small 
dwelling-house  nearby;  that  was  all.  But 
among  the  many  men  who  helped  to  save 
this  little,  none  labored  with  such  energetic 
effort,  such  daring  zeal,  such  superhuman 
strength,  as  the  huge-framed,  big-bearded 
man  they  called  Jack  Rennie. 


The  strike  had  become  general.  The 
streets  of  the  mining  towns  were  filled  with 
idle,  loitering  men  and  boys.  The  drink- 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  43 

ing  saloons  drove  a  brisk  business,  and  the 
merchants  feared  disaster.  Tom  had  not 
told  any  one  as  yet  of  his  adventure  at  the 
breaker  on  the  night  of  the  fire.  He  knew 
that  he  ought  to  disclose  his  secret ;  in- 
deed, he  felt  a  pressing  duty  upon  him  to 
do  so  in  order  that  the  crime  might  be 
duly  punished.  But  the  secret  order  of 
Molly  Maguires  was  a  terror  in  the  coal 
regions  in  those  days;  the  torch,  the  pistol, 
and  the  knife  were  the  insruments  with 
which  it  carried  out  its  desperate  decrees, 
and  Tom  was  absolutely  afraid  to  whisper 
a  word  of  what  he  knew,  even  to  his 
mother  or  to  Bennie. 

But  one  day  the  news  went  out  that 
Jack  Rennie  had  been  arrested,  charged 
with  setting  fire  to  the  Valley  Breaker ; 
and  soon  afterward  a  messenger  came  to 
the  house  of  the  Widow  Taylor,  saying  that 
Tom  was  wanted  immediately  in  Wilkes- 
barre  at  the  office  of  Lawyer  Pleadwell. 

Tom  answered  this  summons  gladly,  as 
it  might  possibly  afford  a  means  by  which 
he  would  be  compelled  to  tell  what  he 
knew  about  the  fire,  with  the  least  respon- 


44  THE   BUND   BROTHER. 

sibility  resting  on  him  for  the  disclosure. 
But  he  resolved  that,  in  no  event,  would 
he  speak  any  thing  but  the  truth. 

After  he  was  dressed  and  brushed  to  the 
satisfaction  of  his  careful  mother,  Tom 
went  with  the  messenger  to  the  railroad 
station,  and  the  fast  train  soon  brought 
them  into  the  city  of  Wilkesbarre,  the 
county  town  of  Luzerne  County. 

On  one  of  the  streets  radiating  from 
the  court-house  square,  they  stopped  be- 
fore a  dingy-looking  door  on  which  was 
fastened  a  sign  reading:  "James  G.  Plead- 
well,  Attorney-at-Law." 

Tom  was  taken,  first,  into  the  outer 
room  of  the  law-offices,  where  a  man  sat 
at  a  table  writing,  and  two  or  three  other 
men,  evidently  miners,  were  talking  to- 
gether in  a  corner;  and  then,  after  a  few 
moments,  the  door  into  an  inner  apart- 
ment was  opened  and  he  was  called  in 
there.  This  room  was  more  completely 
furnished  than  the  outer  one ;  there  was 
a  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  there  were  pic- 
tures on  the  walls ;  also  there  were  long 
shelves  full  of  books,  all  bound  alike  in 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  45 

leather,  all  with  red  labels  near  the  tops 
and  black  labels  near  the  bottoms  of  their 
backs. 

At  the  farther  side  of  the  room  sat  a 
short,  slim,  beardless  man,  with  pale  face 
and  restless  eyes,  whom  Tom  recognized 
as  having  been  in  the  mine  with  the  visit- 
ing strikers  the  day  Bennie  was  lost ;  and 
by  a  round  centre  table  sat  Lawyer  Plead- 
well,  short  and  stout,  with  bristly  mus- 
tache and  a  stubby  nose  on  which  rested  a 
pair  of  gold-rimmed  eye-glasses. 

As  Tom  entered  the  room,  the  lawyer 
regarded  him  closely,  and  waving  his  hand 
towards  an  easy  chair,  he  said,  — 

"Be  seated,  my  lad.  Your  name  is  — 
a'  —  let  me  see" — 

"Tom  —  Thomas  Taylor,  sir,"  answered 
the  boy. 

"  Well,  Tom,  you  saw  the  fire  at  the 
Valley  Breaker  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Tom ;  "  I  guess  I  was 
the  first  one  'at  saw  it." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  said  the  lawyer, 
slowly  ;  then,  after  a  pause,  — 

"  Tom  have  you   told  to  any  one  what 


46  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

you  saw,  or  whom  you    saw  at   the    mo- 
ment of  the  breaking  out  of  that  fire  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,  sir,"  answered  Tom,  won- 
dering how  the  lawyer  knew  he  had  seen 
any  one.  • 

"  Do  you  expect,  or  desire,  to  disclose 
your  knowledge  ?" 

"I  do,"  said  Tom;  "I  ought  to  a'  told 
before ;  I  meant  to  a'  told,  but  I  didn't 
dare.  I'd  like  to  tell  now." 

Tom  was  growing  bold ;  he  felt  that  he 
had  kept  the  secret  long  enough  and  that, 
now,  it  must  out. 

Lawyer  Pleadwell  twirled  his  glasses 
thoughtfully  for  a  few  moments,  then 
placed  them  deliberately  on  his  nose,  and 
turned  straight  to  Tom. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  we  may  as  well 
be  plain  with  you.  I  represent  Jack 
Rennie,  who  is  charged  with  firing  this 
breaker,  and  Mr.  Carolan  here  is  officially 
connected  with  the  order  of  Molly  Ma- 
guires,  in  pursuance  of  whose  decree  the 
deed  is  supposed  to  have  been  done.  We 
have  known,  for  some  time,  that  a  boy  was 
present  when  the  breaker  was  fired.  Last 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  49 

night  we  learned  that  you  were  that  boy. 
Now,  what  we  want  of  you  is  simply  this : 
to  keep  your  knowledge  to  yourself.  This 
will  be  to  your  own  advantage  as  well  as 
for  the  benefit  of  others.  Will  you  do 
it?" 

To  Tom,  the  case  had  taken  on  a  new 
aspect.  Instead  of  being,  as  he  had  sup- 
posed, in  communication  with  those  who 
desired  to  punish  the  perpetrators  of  the 
crime,  he  found  himself  in  the  hands  of 
the  prisoner's  friends.  But  his  Scotch 
stubbornness  came  to  the  rescue,  and  he 
replied,  — 

"I  can't  do  it,  sir;  it  wasn't  right  to  burn 
the  breaker,  an'  the  man  'at  done  it  ought 
to  go  to  jail  for  it." 

Lawyer  Pleadwell  inserted  a  thumb  into 
the  arm-hole  of  his  vest,  and  poised  his 
glasses  carefully  in  his  free  hand.  He  was 
preparing  to  argue  the  case  with  Tom. 

"  Suppose,"  said  he,  "  you  were  a  miner, 
as  you  hope  to  be,  as  your  father  was  be- 
fore you  ;  and  a  brutal  and  soulless  cor- 
poration, having  reduced  your  wages  to 
the  starvation-point,  while  its  vaults  were 


5O  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

gorged  with  money,  should  kick  you,  like 
a  dog,  out  of  their  employ,  when  you 
humbly  asked  them  for  enough  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together.  Suppose  you 
knew  that  the  laws  were  made  for  the  rich 
and  against  the  poor,  as  they  are,  and  that 
your  only  redress,  and  a  speedy  one,  would 
be  to  spoil  the  property  of  your  persecu- 
tors till  they  came  to  treat  you  like  a 
human  being,  with  rights  to  be  respected, 
as  they  surely  would,  for  they  fear  nothing 
so  much  as  the  torch ;  would  you  think  it 
right  for  a  fellow- workman  to  deliver  you 
up  to  their  vengeance  and  fury  for  having 
taught  them  such  a  lesson  ?  " 

The  lawyer  placed  his  glasses  on  his 
nose,  and  leaned  forward,  eagerly,  towards 
Tom. 

The  argument  was  not  without  its  effect. 
Tom  had  long  been  led  to  believe  that  cor- 
porations were  tyrannical  monsters.  But 
the  boy's  inherent  sense  of  right  and 
wrong  was  proof  against  even  this  specious 
plea. 

"  All  the  same,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  make 
out  'at  it's  right  to  burn  a  breaker.  Why," 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  51 

he  continued,  "  you  might  say  the  same 
thing  if  it'd  'a  been  murder." 

Pleadwell  saw  that  he  was  on  the  wrong 
track  with  this  clear-headed  boy. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  settling  back  in  his 
chair,  "  if  peaceful  persuasion  will  not 
avail,  I  trust  you  are  prepared,  in  case  of 
disclosure,  to  meet  whatever  the  Molly 
Maguires  have  in  store  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Tom,  boldly,  "  I  am. 
I've  been  afraid  of  'em,  an'  that's  what's 
kept  me  from  tellin' ;  but  I  won't  be  a 
coward  any  more ;  they  can  do  what  they're 
a  mind  to  with  me." 

The  lawyer  was  in  a  quandary,  and  Car- 
olan  shot  angry  glances  at  Tom.  Here 
was  a  lad  who  held  Jack  Rennie's  fate  in 
his  hands,  and  whom  neither  fear  nor  per- 
suasion could  move.  What  was  to  be 
done? 

Pleadwell  motioned  to  Carolan,  and 
they  rose  and  left  the  room  together ; 
while  Tom  sat,  with  tumultuously  beating 
heart,  but  with  constantly  increasing  reso- 
lution. 

The  men  were  gone  but  a  few  moments, 


52  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

and  came  back  with  satisfied  looks  on  their 
faces. 

"  I  have  learned,"  said  the  lawyer,  ad- 
dressing Tom,  in  a  voice  laden  with  appar- 
ent sympathy,  "  that  you  have  a  younger 
brother  who  is  blind.  That  is  a  sad  afflic- 
tion." 

"  Yes,  indeed  it  is,"  replied  Tom  ;  "  yes, 
indeed ! " 

"  I  have  learned,  also,  that  there  is  a 
possibility  of  cure,  if  the  eyes  are  subjected 
to  proper  and  timely  treatment." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  a  doctor  told  us." 

"  What  a  blessing  it  would  be  if  sight 
could  be  restored  to  him  !  what  a  delight ! 
What  rejoicing  there  would  be  in  your 
little  household,  would  there  not  ? " 

"  Oh,  indeed  there  would  !  "  cried  Tom, 
"oh,  indeed!  It's  what  we're  a-thinkin'  of 
al'ays ;  it's  what  I  pray  for  every  night, 
sir.  We've  been  a-tryin'  to  save  money 
enough  to  do  it,  but  it's  slow  a-gettin'  it, 
it's  awful  slow." 

"A  —  how  much  "  —  Lawyer  Plead  well 
paused,  and  twirled  his  eye-glasses  thought- 
fully—  "  how  much  would  it  cost,  Tom  ?  " 


THE   BLIA?D  BROTHER,  53 

"  Only  a  hundred  dollars,  sir ;  that's 
what  the  doctor  said." 

Another  pause  ;  then,  with  great  deliber- 
ation, — 

"  Tom,  suppose  my  friend  here  should 
see  fit  to  place  in  your  hands,  to-day,  the 
sum  of  one  hundred  dollars,  to  be  used  in 
your  brother's  behalf;  could  you  return  the 
favor  by  keeping  to  yourself  the  knowledge 
you  possess  concerning  the  origin  of  the 
fire  at  the  breaker  ?  " 

The  hot  blood  surged  up  into  Tom's 
face,  his  heart  pounded  like  a  hammer 
against  his  breast,  his  head  was  in  a  whirl. 

o 

A  hundred  dollars !  and  sight  for  Ben- 
nie  !  No  lies  to  be  told  —  only  to  keep 
quiet — and  sight  for  Bennie!  Would  it 
be  very  wrong  ?  But,  oh,  to  think  of  Ben- 
nie in  the  joy  of  seeing !  The  temptation 
was  terrible.  Stronger,  less  affectionate 
natures  than  Tom's  might  well  have 
yielded. 


54  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    UNQUIET   CONSCIENCE. 

AND  Tom  yielded. 

The  whisperings  of  conscience  were 
drowned  in  the  anticipation  of  Bennie's 
joy.  The  fear  of  personal  violence  would 
not  have  conquered  him ;  neither  would 
the  fallacious  argument  of  compensation  by 
destruction  have  done  so.  But  that  vision 
of  Bennie,  with  eyes  that  could  look  into 
his  eyes,  with  eyes  that  could  see  the 
houses  and  the  breakers,  the  trees  and  the 
birds  and  the  flowers,  that  could  even  see 
the  far-off  stars  in  the  sky  at  night,  —  that 
was  the  vision  that  crowded  out  from 
Tom's  mind  the  sharp  distinction  between 
right  and  wrong,  and  delivered  him  over 
wholly  to  the  tempter. 

But  he  felt  the  shame  of  it,  neverthe- 
less, as  he  answered,  in  a  choking  voice,  at 
last,  — 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  55 

"  Yes,  I  could.  A  hundred  dollars  'd 
give  sight  to  Bennie.  I  wouldn't  lie  for  it, 
but  I'll  keep  still  for  it." 

Lawyer  Pleadwell  doubluj-  i$p  his  glasses, 
slipped  them  into  a  morocco  case,  and 
slipped  the  case  into  his  vest-pocket.  His 
object  was  accomplished. 

"Tom,"  he  said,  "  you're  a  wise  lad.  If 
you  keep  on  in  this  way,  you'll  make  a 
lawyer ;  and  a  lawyer,  with  so  evenly 
balanced  a  conscience  as  yours,  will  be  a 
credit  to  the  profession." 

Tom  was  not  quite  sure  whether  this  was 
intended  for  a  compliment  or  not,  so  he 
simply  said,  "  Yes,  sir." 

Pleadwell  reached  across  the  table  for 
his  high  silk  hat,  motioned  to  Carolan  to 
follow  him,  and  went  out,  saying  to  Tom 
as  he  went,  — 

"You  stay  here  and  amuse  yourself; 
we'll  be  back  shortly." 

Tom  sat  there  alone  quite  still.  His 
mind  was  in  a  tumult.  Is  it  right?  Is 
it  right  ?  Some  unseen  presence  kept 
crowding  the  question  in  upon  him. 

What  would  Bennie  say  to  it  ? 


56  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

What  would  Mommie  say  to  it  ? 

Yet  there  were  no  lies  to  be  told ;  he 
was  simply  to  hold  his  tongue. 

But  was  it  not  shielding  a  criminal  from 
just  punishment?  Was  it  not  virtually 
selling  his  honor  for  money?  Would  it 
not  be  better,  after  all,  to  take  back  his 
promise,  to  do  his  duty  fearlessly,  and  to 
work  and  wait,  patiently  and  with  a  clear 
conscience,  for  means  to  accomplish  the 
desire  of  his  heart  for  Bennie  ? 

He  was  just  getting  into  a  state  of  pain- 
ful indecision  when  Carolan  came  in  alone, 
and  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  him. 
Without  saying  a  word,  he  handed  to  Tom, 
one  by  one,  ten  crisp,  new  ten-dollar  bills. 
The  boy  had  never  in  his  life  before  seen 
so  much  money  at  one  time.  To  hold  it 
was  like  a  scene  in  a  fairy  story ;  to  own  it 
was  to  be  rich  beyond  belief.  The  whis- 
pers of  conscience  were  again  stilled  in  the 
novelty  of  possessing  wealth  with  which 
such  blessings  might  be  bought. 

Tom  took  the  money,  folded  it  awk- 
wardly, and  placed  it  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  his  vest.  Carolan  looked  on  with  ap- 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  59 

parent  satisfaction  ;  then  went  and  seated 
himself  in  the  chair  he  had  formerly  occu- 
pied, without  having  uttered  a  word. 

This  man  was  a  marked  character  in  the 
anthracite  coal  region  twenty  years  ago. 
He  was  known  among  the  miners  as 
"  Silent  Mike,"  was  credited  with  much 
native  ability  and  sharpness,  and  was  gen- 
erally believed  to  be  at  the  head,  in  the 
anthracite  region,  of  the  secret  order  of 
Molly  Maguires.  He  was  always  shrewd 
enough  not  to  implicate  himself  in  any 
lawlessness.  The  fact  that  he  so  controlled 
the  organization  as  to  meet  his  personal 
ends  caused  it,  eventually,  to  be  split  with 
internal  dissensions.  Then,  as  a  new  reign 
of  law  and  order  came  in,  and  as  organized 
labor  began  to  base  itself  on  higher  princi- 
ples, and  to  work  out  its  problem  with  less 
of  vengeance  and  more  of  justice,  the 
order  gradually  passed  out  of  existence. 

Thinking  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
said  or  done,  Tom  rose  to  go  ;  but  just 
then  Pleadwell  entered,  laid  his  silk  hat 
carefully  on  the  table,  and  motioned  to  him 
to  be  seated.  Having  taken  his  eye-glasses 


60  THE  BLIND  BROTHER, 

from  their  case  and  adjusted  them  care- 
fully on  his  nose,  he  said  to  Tom,  — 

"  It  will  not  be  wise  for  you  to  make 
any  large  expenditures  of  money  for  any 
purpose  until  after  the  trial ;  and  in  the 
mean  time  it  will  be  absolutely  unsafe  for 
you  to  disclose  to  any  one  the  fact  of  your 
having  money  or  the  means  by  which  it 
was  obtained.  Your  own  discretion  will 
teach  you  this.  You  understand  me,  do 
you  not?" 

Tom  nodded,  and  Pleadwell  continued : 

"There  is  one  thing  more  that  I  desire 
to  speak  of:  I  have  heard  that  when  you 
reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  the  night 
the  breaker  was  burned,  you  saw  a  man 
come  from  near  the  point  where  the  fire 
broke  out,  pass  by  you  in  the  shadow  of  the 
building,  and  disappear  around  the  corner 
by  the  engine-room.  Is  this  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  kind  of  a  looking  man  was  this  ? 
Describe  him." 

"  He  was  a  short  man,"  Tom  replied, 
"  kind  o'  slim,  an'  he  didn't  have  any 
whiskers  "  —  a  sudden  thought  seemed 


THE   BLIND  BROTHER.  6 1 

to  strike  the  boy,  and  looking  for  a 
moment  earnestly  at  Carolan,  and  then 
pointing  his  finger  at  him,  he  exclaimed, — 

"Why,  he  looked  just  like — just  like 
him ! " 

Carolan  smiled  grimly,  but  Pleadwell 
laughed  aloud. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  not  ask 
you  to  tell  whom  he  looks  like,  but  if  I 
should  require  your  presence  at  the  trial, 
and  should  call  you  to  the  witness-stand, 
you  would  have  no  objection,  I  presume, 
to  giving  a  description  of  the  man  you  saw 
pass  by  you  in  the  shadow  of  the  breaker, 
just  as  you  have  described  him  to  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Tom,  "  not  so  long  as  it's 
true." 

"  Oh,  I  should  expect  you  to  say  noth- 
ing that  is  not  strictly  true,"  said  Pleadwell. 
"  I  would  not  allow  a  witness  of  mine  to 
tell  a  lie.  Well,  then,  you  are  to  be  in  the 
court-room  here  a  week  from  next  Tuesday 
morning  at  nine  o'clock.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Carolan,  put  Thomas  Taylor's  name  on 


62  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

that  subpoena.  You  will  consider  yourself 
subpoenaed,  Tom.  Now,"  taking  a  heavy 
gold  watch  from  his  fob-pocket  and  glan- 
cing at  it,  "  you  will  have  just  time  to'  catch 
the  train  north."  Then  stepping  to  the 
door  between  the  two  rooms,  and  throwing 
it  open,  he  said,  "  Harris,  go  to  the  station 
with  this  boy,  buy  his  ticket,  and  see  that 
he  gets  the  right  train." 

Harris  was  the  young  man  who  came 
down  with  Tom,  and  he  and  the  boy  were 
soon  on  the  street  together,  walking  briskly 
toward  the  station. 

An  hour  earlier,  when  they  were  coming 
in,  Tom  had  been  very  talkative  and  in- 
quiring, but  now  his  companion  was  able 
to  get  from  him  no  more  than  a  simple 
"  yes"  or  "  no,"  and  that  only  in  answer  to 
questions. 

Conversation  was  impossible  to  the  boy, 
with  his  mind  so  crowded  with  perplexing 
doubts.  He  could  not  even  take  notice 
of  the  shop-windows,  or  of  the  life  in  the 
streets,  but  followed  blindly  along  by 
the  side  of  Harris.  Somehow  he  felt  as 
though  he  were  walking  under  a  heavy 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  63 

weight,  and  that  roll  of  money  in  his 
pocket  seemed  to  be  burning  him  where 
it  rested  against  his  breast.  He  imagined 
that  the  people  he  met  looked  at  him  sus- 
piciously, as  if  they  knew  he  had  been 
bribed  —  bribed  ! 

The  word  came  into  his  mind  so  sud- 
denly, and  with  such  startling  force,  that  he 
stopped  still  in  the  street,  and  only  recov- 
ered himself  when  Harris  turned  and  called 
to  him. 

They  were  just  in  time  for  the  train. 

Tom  found  a  place  in  the  corner  of  the 
car  where  he  would  be  alone,  and  sat  there 
thinking  over  what  he  had  done,  and  try- 
ing to  reason  himself  into  justification  of 
his  conduct. 

The  conductor  came  along  and  punched 
his  ticket,  and  looked  at  him  so  sharply 
that  Tom  wondered  if  he  knew.  But  of 
course  that  was  absurd.  Then  he  tried 
to  dismiss  the  matter  from  his  mind  alto- 
gether, and  give  his  attention  to  what  he 
could  see  from  the  car-window. 

Outside  a  drizzling  rain  was  beginning 
to  fall  on  the  brown  fields  and  leafless  trees, 


64  THE  ELIA'D  BROTHER. 

and  the  autumn  early  twilight  was  fast 
deepening  into  darkness.  It  was  very 
dismal  and  cheerless,  and  not  at  all  the 
kind  of  outlook  that  could  serve  to  draw 
Tom's  mind  from  its  task  of  self-contem- 
plation. It  was  but  a  few  minutes,  there- 
fore, before  this  controversy  with  him- 
self was  going  on  again,  harder  than 
before. 

Somehow  that  strange  word  "bribed" 
kept  haunting  him.  It  sounded  constantly 
in  his  ears.  He  imagined  that  the  people 
in  the  cars  were  speaking  it ;  that  even  the 
rhythmic  rattle  of  the  wheels  upon  the  rails 
kept  singing  it  to  him  with  monotonous 
reiteration,  "Bribed!  bribed!" 

Tom  thought,  as  he  hurried  down  the 
street  in  the  gathering  darkness,  out  upon 
the  plank  walk,  and  up  the  long  hill  toward 
home,  that  he  had  never  been  so  unhappy 
in  all  his  life  before.  It  was  strange,  loo, 
for  he  had  so  often  dreamed  of  the  great 
joy  he  should  feel  when  the  coveted  hun- 
dred dollars  had  been  saved. 

Well,  he  had  it  now,  every  cent  of  it, 
rolled  up  and  tucked  safely  away  in  the 


THE   BLIND  BROTHER.  65 

pocket  of  his  vest ;  but  instead  of  happi- 
ness, it  had  brought  misery. 

For  the  first  time  within  his  memory,  the 
thought  of  meeting  his  mother  and  his 
brother  gave  him  no  pleasure.  He  would 
not  tell  them  about  the  money  that  night 
at  any  rate ;  he  had  decided  upon  that. 
Indeed,  he  had  almost  concluded  that  it 
would  be  better  that  they  should  not  know 
about  it  until  after  the  trial.  And  then 
suppose  they  should  not  approve !  He 
was  aghast  at  the  very  thought. 

But  Tom  was  a  brave  lad,  and  he  put  on 
a  bright  face  before  these  two,  and  told 
them  of  his  trip  to  Wilkesbarre,  and  about 
what  he  had  seen  and  heard,  —  about  the 
law-office,  about  Pleadwell  and  Carolan, 
about  every  thing,  indeed,  but  the  bargain 
and  the  money. 

He  tried  to  eat  his  supper  as  if  he  en- 
joyed it,  though  every  mouthful  seemed 
about  to  choke  him,  and  on  the  plea  of 
being  very  tired,  he  went  early  to  bed. 
There  he  lay  half  the  night  debating  with 
his  conscience,  trying  to  make  himself  be- 
lieve that  he  had  done  right,  yet  feeling 


66  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

all  the  time  that  he  had  stooped  to  dis- 
honor. 

He  went  over  in  his  mind  the  way  in 
which  he  should  break  the  news  to  Mommie 
and  Bennie,  and  wondered  how  they  would 
receive  it ;  and  always  beating  upon  his 
brain,  with  a  regular  cadence  that  followed 
the  pulsation  of  his  heart,  and  with  a  mo- 
notonous rhythm  that  haunted  him  even 
after  he  had  fallen  into  a  troubled  sleep, 
went  that  terrible  word,  Bribed  ! 


The  autumn  days  went  by,  and  still  the 
strike  continued.  There  were  no  signs  of 
resumption,  no  signs  of  compromise.  On 
the  contrary,  the  breach  between  the  miners 
and  the  operators  was  growing  daily  wider. 
The  burning  of  the  Valley  breaker  and  the 
arrest  of  Jack  Rennie  had  given  rise  to 
a  bitterness  of  feeling  between  the  two 
classes  that  hindered  greatly  an  amicable 
settlement  of  their  differences. 

Acts  of  lawlessness  were  common,  and 
it  was  apparent  that  but  little  provocation 
would  be  needed  to  bring  on  deeds  of 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  67 

violence  of  a  desperate  nature.  The  cry 
of  want  began  to  be  heard,  and,  as  the 
winter  season  was  drawing  near,  suffering 
became  more  frequent  among  the  improvi- 
dent and  the  unfortunate. 

The  Taylor  family  saw  coming  the  time 
when  the  pittance  of  twenty  dollars  that 
the  boys  had  saved  for  Bennie  must  be 
drawn  upon  to  furnish  food  and  clothing 
for  them  all.  Tom  had  tried  to  get  work 
outside  of  the  mines,  but  had  failed  ;  there 
were  so  many  idle  men  and  boys,  and 
there  was  so  little  work  to  be  done  at  that 
season  of  the  year.  But  the  district  school 
was  open,  not  far  from  his  home,  and  Tom 
went  there  instead. 

He  was  fond  of  books,  and  had  studied 
much  by  himself.  He  could  read  very  well 
indeed.  He  used  to  read  aloud  to  Bennie 
a  great  deal,  and  during  these  days  of 
enforced  idleness  the  boys  occupied  much 
of  their  time  in  that  way ;  finding  their 
literature  in  copies  of  old  newspapers 
which  had  been  given  to  them,  and  in  a 
few  old  books  which  had  belonged  to  their 
father. 


68  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

Indian  Summer  came  late  that  year,  but 
it  was  very  fair.  It  lingered  day  after  day, 
with  its  still  air,  its  far-sounding  echoes,  its 
hazy  light  and  its  smoky  distances ;  and 
the  brooding  spirit  of  nature's  quiet  rested 
down,  for  a  brief  but  beautiful  season, 
about  the  unquiet  spirits  of  men. 

On  the  afternoon  of  one  of  its  most 
charming  days,  Tom  and  Bennie  sauntered 
out,  hand  in  hand,  as  they  always  went,  to 
where  the  hill,  south  of  their  little  mining 
village,  rose  like  a  huge,  upturned  bowl, 
sloping  downward  from  its  summit  to  every 
point  of  the  compass.  Over  in  the  little 
valley  to  the  south  lay  the  ruins  of  the 
burned  breaker,  still  untouched  ;  and  off 
upon  the  other  side,  one  could  see  the 
sparkling  Susquehanna  far  up  into  the  nar- 
row valley  where  its  waters  sweep  around 
the  base  of  Campbell's  Ledge ;  across  to 
the  blue  mountains  on  the  west ;  and  down 
the  famous  valley  of  Wyoming,  with  its 
gray  stone  monument  in  the  middle  dis- 
tance, until  the  eastern  hills  crept  in  to 
intercept  the  view. 

It  was  a  dreamy  day,  and  a  day  fit  for 


THE   BLIND   KROTHER.  69 

dreams,  and  when  the  boys  reached  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  Tom  lay  down  upon 
the  warm  sod,  and  silently  looked  away  to 
the  haze-wrapped  mountains,  while  Bennie 
sat  by  his  side,  and  pictured  to  his  mind 
the  view  before  him,  as  Tom  had  described 
it  to  him  many  times,  sitting  in  that  very 
spot. 

Poor  Tom  !  These  beautiful  clays  had 
brought  to  him  much  perplexity  of  mind, 
much  futile  reasoning  with  his  conscience, 
and  much,  very  much,  of  silent  suf- 
fering. 

Lying  there  now,  in  the  sunlight,  with 
open  eyes,  he  saw,  in  reality,  no  more  of 
the  beautiful  scene  before  him  than  did 
blind  Bennie  at  his  side.  He  was  thinking 
of  the  trial,  now  only  three  days  distant, 
of  what  he  should  be  called  upon  to  do 
and  to  say,  and  of  how,  after  it  was  all 
over,  he  must  tell  Mommie  and  Bennie 
about  the  hundred  dollars. 

Ah,  there  was  the  trouble!  he  could  see 
his  way  clearly  enough  until  it  should  come 
to  that ;  but  how  should  he  ever  be  able  to 
tell  to  these  two  a  thine  of  which  he  tried 


70  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

to  be  proud,  but  of  which,  after  all,  he  felt 
guilty  and  ashamed  ? 

Then,  what  would  they  say  to  him  ? 
Would  they  praise  him  for  his  devotion  to 
Bennie,  and  for  his  cleverness  in  having 
.grasped  an  opportunity?  Or  would  they 
grieve  over  his  lack  of  manly  firmness  and 
his  loss  of  boyish  honor  ?  Alas  !  the  more 
he  thought  of  it,  the  more  he  feared  that 
they  would  sorrow  rather  than  rejoice. 

But  an  idea  came  to  Tom,  as  he  lay 
there,  thinking  the  matter  over ;  the  idea 
that  perhaps  he  could  learn  what  Bennie's 
mind  would  be  on  the  subject,  without 
exciting  any  suspicion  therein  of  what  had 
actually  occurred.  He  resolved  to  try. 

He  hardly  knew  how  best  to  approach 
the  matter,  but,  after  some  consideration, 
he  turned  to  Bennie  and  said,  — 

"  Bennie,  do  you  s'pose  Jack  Rennie 
act'ally  set  fire  to  that  breaker  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  bit,  Tom,"  replied 
Bennie ;  "  those  'at  know  him  says  he's 
dreadful  bad.  'Taint  so  much  worse  to 
burn  a  breaker  than  'tis  to  burn  a  shaft- 
house,  an'  they  say  he  act'ally  did  burn  a 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER,  f\ 

shaft-house  up  at  Hyde  Park,  only  they 
couldn't  prove  it  on  him." 

"  Well,  s'pose  you'd  'a'  seen  —  s'pose  you 
could  see,  you  know,  Bennie  —  an'  s'pose 
you'd  'a'  seen  Jack  Rennie  set  fire  to  that 
breaker  ;  would  you  tell  on  him  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  would,"  said  Bennie,  resolutely, 
"  if  I  thought  he'd  never  get  punished  for 
it  'less  I  did  tell  on  him." 

"  Well,  don't  you  think,"  continued  Tom, 
reflectively,  "  'at  that'd  be  sidin'  with  the 
wealthy  clapitulist,  against  the  poor  laborer, 
who  ain't  got  no  other  way  to  get  even 
justice  for  himself,  except  to  make  the  rich 
corpurations  afraid  of  him,  that  way?" 

Tom  was  using  Pleadwell's  argument, 
not  because  he  believed  in  it  himself, 
but  simply  to  see  how  Bennie  would 
meet  it. 

Bennie  met  it  by  saying,  — 

"  Well,  I  don't  care ;  I  don't  b'lieve  it's 
ever  right  to  burn  up  any  thing  'at  belongs 
to  anybody  else ;  an'  if  I  saw  any  one 
a-doin'  it,  I'd  tell  on  him  if"  —  Bennie 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  Tom  looked  up 
eagerly  —  "if  I  wasn't  afraid  o'  the  Molly 


72  THE  BLIND  BKOTHER. 

Maguires.  Jack  Rennie's  a  Molly,  you 
know." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  be  afraid  of  'em  ? 
s'pose  one  of  'em  should  come  to  you  an' 
say,  '  Ben  Taylor,  if  you  tell  on  Jack,  we'll 
put  out  your '  —  I  mean  '  cut  off  your 
tongue.'  What'd  you  do  ?  " 

Bennie  thought  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I  b'lieve  I'd  tell  on  him,  anyway ; 
an*  then  I'd  get  a  pistol,  an'  I  wouldn't  let 
no  Molly  get  nearer  to  me'n  the  muzzle  of 
it." 

In  spite  of  his  great  anxiety,  Tom  laughed 
at  the  picture  of  weak,  blind  little  Bennie 
holding  a  crowd  of  outlaws  at  bay,  with  a 
cocked  revolver  in  his  hand.  But  he  felt 
that  he  was  not  getting  at  the  real  question 
very  fast,  so  he  tried  again. 

"  Well,  Bennie,  s'pose  you'd  'a'  seen 
him  start  that  fire,  an'  he'd  'a'  knowed  it, 
an'  he'd  'a'  said  to  you, '  Ben  Taylor,  if  you 
ever  tell  on  me,  I'll  burn  your  Mommie's 
house  down,  an'  I'll  most  kill  your  brother 
Tom  ! '  t/ien  what'd  you  do  ?  " 

Bennie  hesitated.  This  was  more  of  a 
poser. 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  73 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  at  last,  "  if  I'd  'a' 
b'lieved  he'd  'a'  done  what  he  said  —  I 
don't  know  —  I  guess  I'd  —  well,  maybe,  if 
I  didn't  have  to  tell  any  lie,  I  just  wouldn't 
say  any  thing." 

Tom's  spirits  rose ;  he  felt  that  a  great 
point  was  gained.  Here  was  a  matter  in 
which  Bennie  would  have  been  even  less 
firm  than  he  himself  had  been.  Now  was 
the  time  to  come  directly  to  the  issue,  to 
ask  the  final  question. 

Tom  braced  himself  to  the  task.  He 
tried  to  speak  naturally  and  carelessly,  but 
there  was  a  strange  shortness  of  breath, 
and  a  huskiness  in  his  voice  which  he 
could  not  control ;  he  could  only  hope  that 
Bennie  would  not  notice  it. 

"Well,  then,  s'pose — just  s'pose,  you 
know  —  that  Pd  seen  Jack  Rennie  set  fire 
to  the  breaker,  an'  'at  he  knew  I  was  goin' 
to  tell  on  him,  an'  'at  he'd  'a'  said  to  me, 
'  Tom,  you  got  a  blind  brother  Bennie,  ain't 
you  ? '  an'  I'd  'a'  said,  '  Yes,'  an'  he'd  'a'  said, 
'  What'll  it  cost  to  get  Bennie's  sight  for 
him  ? '  an'  I'd  'a'  said,  '  Oh,  maybe  a  hun- 
dred dollars,'  an'  he'd  'a'  said,  '  Here,  Tom, 


74  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

here's  a  hundred  dollars ;  you  go  an'  get 
Bennie's  eyes  cured ;  an'  don't  you  say 
any  thin'  about  my  settin'  that  fire.'  What 

—  what'd  you  'a'  done   if  you'd  'a'  been 
me?" 

Tom  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  leaned  toward  Bennie,  with  flushed  face 
and  painful  expectancy  in  his  eyes. 

He  knew  that  for  him  Bennie's  answer 
meant  either  a  return  to  a  measure  of  the 
old  happiness,  or  a  plunging  into  deeper 
misery. 

The  blind  boy  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood 
for  a  moment  as  if  lost  in  thought.  Then 
he  turned  his  sightless  eyes  to  Tom,  and 
said,  very  slowly  and  distinctly,  — 

"  If  you'd  'a'  took  it,  Tom,  an'  if  you'd 
'a'  used  it  to  cure  me  with,  an'  I'd  'a'  known 
it,  an'  I'd  'a'  got  my  sight,  I  don't  believe 

—  I  don't  believe  I  should  ever  'a'  wanted 
to  look  at  you,  Tom,  or  wanted  you  to  see 
me ;  I'd  'a'  been  so  'shamed  o'  both  of  us." 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  77 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    TRIAL. 

TOM  turned  his  head  away,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  This  was  cruel. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  glad 
Bennie  could  not  see  him.  But  he  felt 
that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  say  some- 
thing, so  he  stammered  out,  — 

"  Well,  I  was  only  just  s'posin',  you 
know.  Course,  no  honest  fellow'd  do  that ; 
but  if  they'll  only  get  to  work  again,  we 
won't  ask  anybody  for  any  hunderd  dollars. 
We'll  earn  it." 

The  beauty  of  the  autumn  day  died 
slowly  out,  and  the  narrow  crescent  of  the 
new  moon,  hanging  over  the  tops  of  the  far 
western  hills,  shone  dimly  through  the 
purple  haze.  Sadly  and  with  few  words 
the  two  boys  went  their  homeward  way. 
A  great  burden  of  regret  and  remorse 


78  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

rested  upon  Tom's  heart,  and  the  shadow 
of  it  fell  upon  the  heart  of  his  blind 
brother. 

Poor,  poor  Tom  !  He  knew  not  what  to 
do.  He  could  never  use  the  money  now  for 
Bennie,  and  he  would  not  use  it  for  him- 
self. It  had  occurred  to  him  once  to  take 
the  money  back  to  Plead  well,  and  seek  to 
be  released  from  his  agreement.  But  a 
little  thought  had  convinced  him  that  this 
would  be  useless ;  that  the  money  would 
not  be  received ;  that,  having  accepted  a 
bribe,  he  had  placed  himself  in  the  power 
of  those  who  had  given  it  to  him,  and  that 
any  wavering  on  his  part,  much  more  any 
violation  of  his  agreement,  would  bring 
down  vengeance  and  punishment  on  him- 
self, and  trouble  and  disgrace  on  those  who 
were  dear  to  him. 

"Oh,  why,"  he  asked  himself,  in  bitter 
thought,  "why  did  I  ever  take  the  money?" 

Tom's  mother  attributed  his  melancholy 
to  lack  of  work  and  loss  of  earnings.  She 
knew  how  his  heart  was  set  on  laying  up 
money  to  send  Bennie  away,  and  how  im- 
patient he  became  at  any  delay  in  the  prog- 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  8 1 

ress  of  his  scheme.  So  she  talked  to  him 
very  cheerfully,  and  made  delicate  little 
dishes  to  tempt  his  appetite,  and  when  the 
morning  for  the  trial  came,  and  Tom  started 
for  the  train  to  go  to  Wilkesbarre,  dressed 
in  his  best  clothes,  and  with  the  hated 
hundred  dollars  burning  in  his  pocket,  she 
kissed  him  good-by  with  a  smile  on  her 
face.  She  bade  him  many  times  to  be  very 
careful  about  the  cars,  and  said  to  him,  at 
parting,  "  Whatever  tha  says  to  thee,  lad, 
tell  the  truth  ;  whatever  tha  does  to  thee, 
tell  the  truth  ;  fear  to  look  no  man  i'  the 
eye ;  be  good  an'  honest  wi'  yoursel',  an' 
coom  back  to  Mommie  an'  Bennie,  when 
it's  ower,  hearty  an'  weel." 

Sandy  McCulloch  went  down  with  Tom 
on  the  train,  and  together  they  walked  from 
the  station  to  the  Court  House.  There 
were  many  people  standing  about  in  the 
Court-House  Square,  and  in  the  corridors 
of  the  building,  and  the  court-room  itself 
was  nearly  full  when  Tom  and  Sandy  en- 
tered it.  They  found  vacant  places  on 
one  of  the  rear  benches,  but,  as  the  seats 
were  all  graded  down  on  a  sloping  floor  to 


82  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

the  bar,  they  could  see  without  difficulty  all 
that  was  being  done. 

Tom  had  never  been  in  a  court-room 
before,  and  he  looked  with  much  interest 
at  the  judges  on  the  bench,  at  the  lawyers 
chatting  pleasantly  in  the  bar,  at  the  entry 
and  departure  of  the  grand  jury,  and  at 
the  officious  constables,  each  with  his  staff 
of  office,  who  kept  order  in  the  court-room. 

There  were  some  motions  and  argu- 
ments which  Tom  could  not  understand, 
being  made  by  the  attorneys;  the  clerk 
read  some  lists  in  a  weak  voice,  and  the 
time  of  the  court  was  thus  occupied  until 
toward  noon. 

By  and  by  there  was  a  slight  bustle  at 
the  side  door,  to  the  right  of  the  judges' 
bench,  and  the  sheriff  and  his  deputy  en- 
tered with  Jack  Rennie. 

Head  and  shoulders  above  those  who 
accompanied  him,  his  heavily  bearded  face 
somewhat  pale  from  confinement,  and 
stooping  rather  more  than  usual,  he  moved 
slowly  across  the  crowded  bar,  in  full  view 
of  all  the  people  in  the  room,  to  a  seat  by 
the  side  of  his  counsel. 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  83 

The  instant  Tom's  eyes  rested  on  him 
he  recognized  him  as  the  man  who  had 
threatened  him  at  the  breaker  on  the  night 
of  the  fire.  The  buzz  of  excitement,  oc- 
casioned by  the  entrance  of  the  prisoner, 
subsided,  and  the  voice  of  the  presiding 
judge  sounded  distinctly  through  the 
room: 

"  Commonwealth  against  Jack  Rennie. 
Arson.  Are  you  ready  for  trial  ?  " 

"  We  are,  your  Honor,"  replied  the 
district  attorney,  rising  to  his  feet  and 
advancing  to  the  clerk's  desk. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  judge.  "  Arraign 
the  prisoner." 

Rennie  was  directed  to  stand  up,  and 
the  district  attorney  read,  in  a  clear  voice, 
the  indictment,  which  charged  that  the 
defendant  "  did,  on  the  eighteenth  day  of 
November  last  passed,  feloniously,  wil- 
fully and  maliciously  set  fire  to,  burn  and 
consume,  a  certain  building,  to  wit:  a  coal- 
breaker,  the  same  being  the  property  of  a 
certain  body  corporate  known  by  the  style 
and  title  of  '  The  Valley  Coal  Company  ; ' 
by  reason  of  which  setting  fire  to,  burning 


84  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

and  consuming,  a  certain  dwelling-house, 
also  the  property  of  the  said  Valley  Coal 
Company,  and  being  within  the  curtilage 
of  said  coal-breaker,  was  also  burned  and 
consumed ;  contrary  to  the  form  of  the 
act  of  the  General  Assembly,  in  such  case 
made  and  provided,  and  against  the  peace 
and  dignity  of  the  Commonwealth  of 
Pennsylvania." 

Rennie  stood,  listening  intently  to  the 
reading  of  the  indictment.  When  the 
question  was  put  : 

"  What  say  you,  —  guilty,  or  not  guilty  ? " 
he  replied,  in  a  deep,  chest  voice,  — 

"  If  I  be  guilty,  ye  ha'  but  to  prove  it." 

"  Make  your  plea,  sir  !  "  said  the  judge 
severely.  "  Guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?  " 

"  Then  I'll  plead  no'  guilty.  No  mon's 
guilty  till  he's  proved  guilty." 

Rennie  resumed  his  seat,  and  the  court 
was  soon  afterward  adjourned  for  the  noon 
recess. 

In  the  afternoon  the  selecting  of  jurors 
in  the  case  against  Rennie  began. 

The  first  one  called  was  a  miner.  One 
could  tell  that  by  the  blue  powder-marks 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  87 

on  his  face,  and  that  he  was  of  Irish  nativ- 
ity could  be  detected  by  the  rich  brogue 
that  escaped  his  lips.  He  was  "  passed  " 
by  the  Commonwealth,  and  the  clerk  of  the 
court  recited  the  formula  : 

"  Juror,  look  upon  the  prisoner.  Pris- 
oner, look  upon  the  juror.  What  say 
you,  —  challenge,  or  no  challenge  ?  " 

"  Swear  the  juror  to  '  true  answers 
make,'  "  said  Attorney  Pleadwell. 

The  man  was  sworn. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  inquired  the 
lawyer. 

"  Up  on  Shanty  Hill,  sorr." 

"  That's  definite.  Anywhere  near  this 
breaker  that  was  burned  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  matther  of  a  mile  belike,  bar- 
rin'  the  time  it'd  take  ye  to  walk  to  the 
track  beyant." 

14  What's  your  occupation  ?  " 

"Occupation,  is  it?  Yis,  sorr;  as  good 
a  charr^ter  as  anny  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  mean  what  do  you  work  at  ? " 

"  I'm  a  miner,  sorr." 

"  Where  do  you  work  ?  " 

"  Faith,  I  worked  for  the  Valley  Breaker 


88  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

Coal  Company  this  tin  years  come  next 
St.  Patrick's  day,  may  it  plase  the  coort, 
an'  bad  'cess  to  the  man  that  burnt  it, 
I  say,  an'  "  — 

"  Challenge  !  "  interrupted  Attorney 
Plead  well,  sharply. 

A  tipstaff  hurried  the  challenged  man 
from  the  witness-box,  in  a  state  of  helpless 
bewilderment  as  to  what  it  all  meant,  and 
another  juror  was  called,  a  small,  wiry  man, 
chewing  on  a  mouthful  of  tobacco.  He 
was  sworn  on  his  voir  dire,  and  the  dis- 
trict attorney  asked  him,  — 

"  Do  you  belong  to  an  organization 
known  as  the  Molly  Maguires  ?  " 

44  No,  sir !  "  quickly  responded  the  man, 
before  Pleadwell  could  interpose  an  objec- 
tion to  the  question. 

The  district  attorney  looked  at  the  wit- 
ness sharply  for  a  moment,  then  consulted 
with  Attorney  Summons,  who  sat  by  his 
side  as  private  counsel  for  the  prosecution. 
They  believed  that  the  man  had  sworn 
falsely,  in  order  to  get  on  the  jury  in  behalf 
of  the  defendant,  and  he  was  directed  to 
stand  aside. 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  89 

The  next  juror  called  was  a  farmer  from 
a  remote  part  of  the  county,  who  had  heard 
nothing  about  the  fire  until  he  arrived  in 
town,  and  who  displayed  no  prejudices. 
He  was  accepted  by  both  sides  as  the  first 
juror  in  the  case. 

So  the  selection  went  on,  slowly  and 
tediously,  enlivened  at  times  by  an  amusing 
candidate  for  the  jury-box,  or  a  tilt  between 
counsel ;  and  long  before  the  "  twelve  good 
men  and  true "  had  all  been  selected  and 
sworn,  the  early  autumn  night  had  fallen, 
and  the  flaring  gas-jets  lighted  up  the 
space  about  the  bench  and  bar,  leaving 
the  remote  corners  of  the  court-room  in 
uncertain  shadow. 

At  six  o'clock  court  was  adjourned  until 
the  following  morning,  and  Tom  went,  with 
Sandy  McCulloch,  to  a  small  hotel  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  where  arrangements 
had  been  made  to  accommodate  wit- 
nesses for  the  defence.  Notwithstanding 
his  anxiety  of  mind,  Tom  was  hungry, 
and  he  ate  a  hearty  supper  and  went 
early  to  bed. 

But  he  could  not  sleep.    The  excitement 


QO  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

of  the  day  had  left  his  brain  in  a  whirl,  and 
he  tossed  restlessly  about,  going  over  in 
his  mind  what  had  already  occurred,  and 
thinking  with  grave  apprehension  of  what 
to-morrow  might  bring  forth.  Through  it 
all  he  still  repeated  one  resolve  :  that  what- 
ever came  he  would  not  lie. 

With  this  unsatisfactory  compromise  with 
his  conscience  on  his  mind,  he  fell  at  last 
into  a  troubled  sleep. 

When  court  was  opened  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  the  court-room  was  more 
densely  crowded  with  idle  men  than  it  had 
been  on  the  previous  day.  The  case  against 
Rennie  was  taken  up  without  delay.  The 
district  attorney  made  the  opening  address 
on  behalf  of  the  Commonwealth,  doing 
little  more  than  to  outline  the  evidence  to 
be  presented  by  the  prosecution. 

The  first  witness  called  was  a  civil  engi- 
neer, who  presented  a  map  showing  the 
plan,  location  and  surroundings  of  the 
burned  breaker.  Following  him  came  two 
witnesses  who  detailed  the  progress  of  the 
fire  as  they  had  seen  it,  one  of  them  being 
the  watchman  at  the  breaker,  and  the  other 


THE  BLIND. BROTHER.  91 

the  occupant  of  the  dwelling-house  which 
had  been  burned. 

A  third  witness  testified  to  having  seen 
Rennie  at  the  fire  shortly  after  it  broke  out, 
but  did  not  know  how  long  he  had  been 
there,  nor  where  he  came  from  ;  and  still 
another  swore  that  he  had  seen  the  defend- 
ant in  a  drinking-saloon  in  town,  about 
half  an  hour  before  he  heard  the  alarm  of 
fire,  and  had  noticed  that  he  went  away,  in 
the  direction  of  the  breaker,  in  company 
with  "  Silent  Mike." 

Then  came  a  witness  who  gave  his  name 
as  Lewis  G.  Travers  ;  a  slightly  built,  but 
muscular  man,  of  middle  age,  with  sharp 
eyes  and  quiet  manner. 

"What  is  your  occupation?"  inquired 
the  district  attorney,  after  the  man  had 
been  sworn. 

"  I  am  a  detective." 

<l  Do  you  know  Jack  Rennie,  the  defend- 
ant?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Where  did  you  last  see  him  ? " 

"  At  a  meeting,  in  Carbondale,  of  certain 
members  of  the  order  of  Molly  Maguires." 


Q2  THE  BUND  BROTHER. 

"  Are  you  a  member  of  that  order  ?  " 

"  I  have  been." 

"  Will  you  relate  the  circumstances  at- 
tending your  connection  with  it?" 

The  stillness  in  the  court-room  was  mar- 
vellous. On  many  an  expectant  face  were 
mingled  expressions  of  hate  and  fear,  as 
the  witness,  with  calm  deliberation,  related 
the  thrilling  story  of  how  he  had  worked  as 
a  common  laborer  in  the  mines,  in  order  to 
gain  a  standing  with  the  lawless  miners, 
and  of  how  he  had  then  been  admitted  to 
the  order  of  Molly  Maguires,  and  had 
taken  part  in  their  deliberations. 

As  a  member  of  the  executive  board,  he 
had  been  present,  he  said,  at  a  secret  meet- 
ing held  in  Carbondale,  at  which,  on  ac- 
count of  the  outspoken  denunciation  of  the 
order,  and  the  prompt  dismissal  of  men  be- 
longing to  it,  by  the  owners  of  the  Valley 
Breaker,  it  was  resolved  to  visit  them  with 
vengeance,  in  the  shape  of  fire ;  that  Jack 
Rennie  was  selected  to  carry  out  the  reso- 
lution,  and  that  Rennie,  being  present,  had 
registered  a  solemn  oath  to  do  the  bidding 
of  the  order. 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  93 

This  was  the  substance  of  his  testimony, 
and  though  the  cross-examination,  by 
Pleaclwell,  was  sharp,  rigid  and  severe,  the 
effect  of  the  evidence  could  not  be  broken. 

At  this  point  the  Commonwealth  rested. 
The  case  against  Rennie  had  assumed  a 
serious  phase.  Unless  he  could  produce 
some  strong  evidence  in  his  favor,  his  con- 
viction was  almost  assured. 

Pleadwell  rose  to  open  the  case  for  the 
defence.  After  some  general  remarks  on 
the  unfairness  of  the  prosecution,  and  the 
weakness  of  the  detective's  story,  he  de- 
clared that  they  should  prove,  in  behalf  of 
the  defendant,  that  he  was  not  at  or  near 
the  breaker  until  after  the  fire  was  well 
under  way,  and  that  the  saving  of  a  large 
portion  of  the  company's  loose  property 
from  destruction-was  due  to  his  brave  and 
energetic  efforts. 

"  Furthermore,"  continued  Pleadwell, 
earnestly,  "  we  shall  present  to  the  court 
send  jury  a  most  irreproachable  witness,  who 
will  testify  to  you  that  he  was  present  and 
saw  this  fire  kindled,  and  that  the  man  who 
kindled  it  was  not  Jack  Rennie." 


94  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

There  was  a  buzz  of  excitement  in  the 
court-room  as  Pleadvvell  resumed  his  seat ; 
and  Tom's  heart  beat  loudly  as  he  under- 
stood the  significance  of  the  lawyer's  last 
statement.  He  felt,  more  than  ever,  the 
wrong,  the  disgrace,  the  self-humiliation 
to  which  he  should  stoop,  by  giving  his 
testimony  in  support  of  so  monstrous  a 
lie. 

But  what  could  he  do  ?  The  strain  on 
his  mind  was  terrible.  He  felt  an  almost 
irresistible  desire  to  cry  out,  there,  in  the 
crowded  court-room,  that  he  had  yielded 
to  temptation  for  the  sake  of  blind  Bennie  ; 
that  he  had  seen  the  folly  and  the  wicked- 
ness, and  known  the  awful  misery  of  it 
already ;  that  the  money  that  bought  him 
was  like  rags  in  his  sight ;  and  that  his  own 
guilt  and  cowardice  should  save  this  crimi- 
nal no  longer  from  the  punishment  which 
his  crime  deserved. 

By  a  strong  effort,  he  repressed  his 
emotion,  and  sat,  with  face  flushed  and 
pallid  by  turns,  waiting  for  the  time  when 
his  wretched  bargain  should  be  fulfilled. 

The  first  witness  called  on  the  part  of 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  95 

the  defence  was  Michael  Carolan,  better 
known  as  "  Silent  Mike." 

He  testified  that  Rennie  came  down 
from  Scranton  with  him  and  a  body  of 
strikers  on  the  morning  of  November  18  ; 
that  they  ate  supper  with  Carolan's  mar- 
ried sister,  who  lived  in  the  village,  just 
beyond  the  burned  breaker ;  that  they 
spent  the  evening  at  a  miners'  mass-meet- 
ing in  town,  and  afterwards  called  at  a 
drinking-saloon ;  and  that  they  were  on 
the  way  back  to  his  sister's  house,  for  the 
night,  when  they  heard  the  cry  of  "  Fire !  " 

"  At  this  time,"  continued  Carolan,  "  Jack 
and  me  were  together,  at  the  crossin'  on 
Railroad  Street,  maybe  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away  from  the  breaker,  an'  whin  we  heard 
the  alarm,  we  looked  up  the  track  an'  saw 
the  blaze,  an'  Jack  says,  says  he, '  Mike,  the 
breaker's  a-fire,'  an'  I  says,  says  I,  '  It  is, 
sure ; '  an'  with  that  we  both  ran  up  the 
track  toward  the  fire. 

"  Whin  we  were  most  there  we  met 
Sandy  McCulloch  comin'  from  the  hill 
beyant,  an'  me  an'  him  an'  Jack  wint  an' 
shoved  out  the  cars  from  the  loadin'-place 


g6  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

that  we  could  get  at ;  an'  thin  we  wint  to 
help  with  the  furniture  at  the  dwellin'- 
house,  an'  we  saved  ivery  thing  we  could." 

Silent  Mike  had  done  well.  Few  people 
had  ever  before  heard  so  many  words  come 
in  succession  from  his  lips,  and  he  told  his 
story  with  such  impressive  earnestness 
that  it  was  easy  to  believe  that  he  spoke 
the  truth.  Indeed,  there  was  very  little 
in  his  account  of  the  occurrence  that  was 
not  strictly  in  accordance  with  the  facts. 
He  had  simply  omitted  to  state  that  he 
and  Rennie  had  gone,  first,  up  to  the 
breaker  and  kindled  the  blaze,  and  then 
returned,  hastily,  to  the  crossing  where 
they  certainly  were  when  the  first  cry  of 
"  Fire  !  "  was  heard. 

Rennie's  case  was  looking  up.  There 
was  a  recess  for  dinner,  and,  when  court 
was  re-opened,  Sandy  McCulloch  was  put 
on  the  witness-stand. 

He  was  just  getting  into  bed,  he  said, 
when  he  heard  the  cry  of  "  Fire  !  "  He 
looked  out  and  saw  that  the  breaker  was 
burning,  and,  hurrying  on  his  clothes,  he 
ran  down  the  hill. 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  97 

"  When  I  cam'  to  the  fit  o'  the  hill,"  he 
continued,  in  answer  to  Pleadwell's  ques- 
tion, "  I  heard  some'at  behin'  me,  an'  I 
lookit  aroun',  an'  there  I  see  Jack  the 
Giant  an'  Silent  Mike  a-speedin'  up  the 
track  toward  the  breaker. 

"  The  fire  was  a-burnin'  up  brisk  by 
then,  an'  me  an'  Jack  an'  Mike,  we  went 
an'  pushit  some  cars  out  fra  the  loadin'- 
place,  down  the  track  ;  an'  then  we  savit 
a  bit  fra  the  clwellin'-house,  an'  a  bit  fra 
the  engine-room,  an'  a  bit  here  an'  there, 
as  we  could ;  an'  Jack,  he  workit  like  a' 
possessed,  he  did,  sir  ;  sure  he  did." 

"  What  were  you  doing  up  so  late  at 
night  ? "  was  the  first  question  put  to 
Sandy  on  cross-examination. 

"  Well,  you  see,  sir,  a  bit  o'  a  lad  that 
works  i'  the  mines  wi'  us,  he  had  lost  his 
brither  i'  the  slope  the  day,  he  had ;  an'  I 
gied  him  a  promise  to  help  seek  him  oot 
gin  he  cam'  i'  the  evenin'  to  say  as  the  lad 
was  no'  foond  ;  an'  I  was  a-waitin'  up  for 
him,  min'  ye." 

"  Well,  did  the  lad  come  ? "  inquired 
Lawyer  Summons,  somewhat  sarcastically. 


98  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

"  He  did  that,  an'  he  tellit  me  as  how 
he'd  foond  the  brither,  an'  leadit  him  hame, 
an'  would  na  want  me ;  an'  I  said  '  good- 
nicht'  till  the  lad,  an'  started  to  bed,  an' 
the  clock  struckit  eleven." 

"  Who  was  the  lad  that  came  to  your 
house  ?  " 

"  Tom  Taylor,  sir." 

Rennie  started  in  his  seat  as  the  name 
was  spoken,  and  the  blood  mounted  into 
his  pale  forehead  as  he  gazed  intently  at 
the  witness. 

"  Did  the  boy  go  in  the  direction  of  the 
breaker  from  your  house  ? "  questioned 
Summons. 

"  He  did,  sir." 

"  How  long  was  it  after  he  left  you  that 
you  heard  the  cry  of  fire  ? " 

"Well,  maybe  the  time  o'  ten  minutes." 

"  Could  the  boy  have  got  beyond  the 
breaker  ? " 

"  He  must  'a',  sir,  he  must  'a' ;  the  grass 
was  na  growin'  under  his  feet  goin'  doon 
the  hill." 

"  Do  you  think  Tom  Taylor  fired  that 
breaker?" 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  99 

Sandy  stared  for  a  moment  in  blank 
amazement. 

"  Why,  the  guid  Lord  bless  ye,  mon  !  be 
ye  daft  ?  There  ain't  a  better  boy  i'  the 
roun'  warl'n  Tom  Taylor ! "  and  Sandy 
broke  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  very  idea 
of  Tom  doing  any  thing  wrong. 

But  Tom,  who  sat  back  in  his  seat  and 
heard  it  all,  was  suddenly  startled  with  the 
sense  of  a  new  danger.  Suppose  he  should 
be  charged  with  setting  fire  to  the  breaker? 
And  suppose  Rennie  and  Carolan  should 
go  upon  the  witness-stand  and  swear  that 
they  saw  him  running  away  from  the  newly 
kindled  blaze,  as,  indeed,  they  might  and 
not  lie,  either,  —  how  could  he  prove  his 
innocence  ?  Yet  he  was  about  to  swear 
Jack  Rennie  into  freedom,  knowing  him  to 
be  guilty  of  the  crime  with  which  he  was 
charged,  and,  what  was  still  more  despica- 
ble, he  was  about  to  do  it  for  money. 

Looked  upon  in  this  light,  the  thing  that 
Tom  had  promised  to  do  rose  very  black 
and  ugly  in  his  sight ;  and  the  poor  delu- 
sion that  he  should  tell  no  lie  was  swept, 
like  a  clinging  cobweb,  from  his  mind. 


IOO  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

It  was  while  his  heart  was  still  throbbing 
violently  under  the  excitement  of  this  last 
thought  and  fear,  that  he  heard  some  one 
call,— 

"  Thomas  Taylor !  " 

"  Here,  sir,"  responded  Tom. 

"  Take  the  witness-stand." 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  IOI 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    VERDICT. 

PALE  and  trembling,  Tom  passed  out 
into  the  aisle  and  down  around  the  jury- 
box,  and  stepped  upon  the  little  railed 
platform. 

In  impressive  tones,  the  clerk  adminis- 
tered to  him  the  oath,  and  he  kissed  the 
Holy  Bible  and  swore  to  "  tell  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

The  whole  truth  ! 

The  words  echoed  and  re-echoed  through 
his  mind,  as  he  looked  down  upon  the 
lawyers  and  jurors,  and  across  the  bar  into 
the  hundreds  of  expectant  faces  turned 
toward  him.  For  a  moment  he  felt  fright- 
ened and  dizzy. 

But  only  for  a  moment ;  fear  gave  place 
to  astonishment,  for  Jack  Rennie  had 
started  to  his  feet,  with  wild  eyes  and  face 


IO2  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

blanched  with  sudden  dread,  and,  bending 
over  till  his  great  beard  swept  Pleadwell's 
shoulder,  he  whispered,  hoarsely,  into  the 
lawyer's  ear,  in  a  tone  audible  throughout 
the  room,  — 

"  Ye  did  na  tell  me  who  the  lad  was ! 
He  mus'  na  be  sworn  ;  it's  na  lawfu'.  I'll 
no'  have  it ;  I  say  I'll  no'  have  it !  " 

In  another  moment  Pleadwell  had  his 
hand  on  the  man's  shoulder,  and  forced 
him  into  a  seat.  There  was  a  whispered 
consultation  of  a  few  minutes  between  at- 
torney and  client,  and  then,  while  Rennie 
sat  with  his  eyes  turned  steadfastly  away 
from  the  witness,  his  huge  hand  clutching 
the  edge  of  the  table,  and  the  expression 
of  nervous  dread  still  on  his  face,  Plead- 
well,  calmly,  as  if  there  had  been  no  in- 
terruption, proceeded  with  the  examina- 
tion. 

He  asked  Tom  about  his  residence  and 
his  occupation,  and  about  how  blind  Ben- 
nie  lost  himself  in  the  mines.  With  much 
skill,  he  carried  the  story  forward  to  the 
time  when  Tom  said  good-night  to  Sandy, 
and  started  down  the  hill  toward  home. 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  103 

"  As  you  approached  the  breaker,  did 
you  see  a  man  pass  by  you  in  the  shadow  ? " 

"  I  did,"  replied  Tom. 

"  About  how  far  from  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  ten  feet,  maybe." 

"  Where  did  he  go  ? " 

"Around  the  corner,  by  the  engine-room." 

"  From  what  point  did  he  come  ?  " 

"  From  the  loading-place." 

"  How  long  after  he  left  the  loading-place 
was  it  that  you  saw  the  first  blaze  there  ? " 

"  Two  or  three  minutes,  maybe." 

"Did  you  see  his  face  ? " 

"  I  did." 

"  How  did  he  look  ?     Describe  him." 

"  He  was  short  and  thin,  and  had  no 
whiskers." 

Pleadwell  pointed  to  Rennie,  and 
asked,  — 

"  Was  this  the  man  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Tom. 

Pleadwell  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 
turned  to  the  jury  with  a  smile  of  triumph 
on  his  face.  The  people  in  the  court-room 
nodded  to  each  other,  and  whispered, 
"  That  clears  Jack." 


I    -1  THE  BLIXD  BROTHER. 

Every  one,  but  Jack  Rennie  himself, 
seemed  to  feel  the  force  of  Tom's  testi- 
mony. The  prisoner  still  sat  clutching  the 
table,  looking  blankly  at  the  wall,  pale, 
almost  trembling,  with  some  suppressed 
emotion. 

But  through  Tom's  mind  kept  echoing 
the  solemn  words  of  his  oath  :  "  The  whole 
truth  ;  tlie  wJwle  truth"  And  he  had  not 
told  it ;  his  testimony  was  no  better  than  a 
lie.  An  awful  sense  of  guilt  came  pressing 
in  upon  him  from  above,  from  below,  from 
every  side.  Hateful  voices  seemed  sound- 
ing in  his  brain :  "  Perjurer  in  spirit ! 
Receiver  of  bribes ! " 

The  torture  of  his  self- abhorrence,  in 
that  one  moment  of  silence,  was  terrible 
beyond  belief. 

Then  a  sudden  impulse  seized  him ;  a 
bright,  brave,  desperate  impulse. 

He  stepped  down  from  the  witness-stand, 
passed  swiftly  between  chairs  and  tables, 
tearing  the  money  from  his  breast-pocket 
by  the  way,  and  flinging  the  hated  hundred 
dollars  down  before  the  astonished  Plead- 
well,  he  returned  as  quickly  as  he  came, 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  IO/ 

stepped  into  his  place  with  swelling  breast 
and  flaming  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  and 
exclaimed,  falling,  in  his  excitement,  into 
the  broad  accent  of  his  mother  tongue,  — 

"  Noo  I'm  free !  Do  what  ye  wull  wi* 
me !  Prison  me,  kill  me,  but  I'll  no'  hold 
back  the  truth  longer  for  ony  mon,  nor  a' 
the  money  that  ony  mon  can  gi'  me !  " 

Men  started  to  their  feet  in  astonishment. 
Some  one  back  among  the  people  began 
to  applaud.  Jack  Rennie  turned  his  face 
toward  the  boy  with  a  look  of  admiration, 
and  his  eyes  were  blurred  with  sudden 
tears. 

"  He's  the  son  o'  his  father ! "  he  ex- 
claimed ;  "  the  son  o'  his  father  !  He's  a 
braw  lad,  an'  good  luck  till  him,  but  it  was 
flyin'  i'  the  face  o'  fortune  to  swear  him. 
I  told  ye  !  I  told  ye  !  " 

"Who  gave  you  that  money?"  asked 
the  district  attorney  of  Tom,  when  quiet 
had  been  partially  restored. 

Pleadwell  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Don't  answer 
that  question !  Did  I  give  you  that 
money  ?  " 


108  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Tom,  awed  by  the 
man's  vehemence. 

"  Did  Jack  Rennie  give  you  that  money?" 

"  No,  sir." 

Pleadwell  turned  to  the  court. 

"  Then  if  your  Honors  please,  we  object 
to  the  witness  answering  this  question. 
This  is  a  desperate  theatrical  trick,  con- 
cocted by  the  prosecution  to  prejudice  this 
defendant.  We  ask  that  they  be  not 
allowed  to  support  it  with  illegal  evidence." 

The  judge  turned  to  Tom. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  asked,  "  that  this 
money  was  given  to  you  by  the  defendant's 
authority,  or  by  his  knowledge  or  consent?" 

"  I  can't  swear  that  it  was,"  replied  Tom. 

"The  objection  is  sustained,"  said  his 
Honor,  abruptly. 

Pleadwell  had  gained  a  point ;  he  might 
yet  win  the  day.  But  the  district  attorney 
would  not  loose  his  grip. 

"  Why  did  you  just  give  that  money  to 
the  attorney  for  the  defence  ? "  he  asked. 

Pleadwell  interposed  another  objection, 
but  the  court  ruled  that  the  question  was 
properly  in  the  line  of  cross-examination 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  IOQ 

of  the  defendant's  witness,  and  Tom  an- 
swered, — 

"  'Cause  I  had  no  right  to  it,  an'  he 
knows  who  it  belongs  to." 

"  Whom  does  it  belong  to  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  only  know  who 
gave  it  to  me." 

"  When  was  it  given  to  you  ?  " 

"  A  week  ago  last  Thursday,  sir." 

"  Where  was  it  given  to  you  ?  " 

"  In  Mr.  Pleadwell's  office." 

"Was  Mr.  Pleadwell  present?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  How  much  money  was  given  to  you  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  dollars,  sir." 

"  For  what  purpose  was  it  given  to 
you  ?  " 

"  To  send  my  blind  brother  away  to  get 
his  sight." 

"  I  mean  what  were  you  to  do  in  con- 
sideration of  receiving  the  money  ? " 

Before  Tom  could  answer,  Pleadwell  was 
addressing  the  court : 

"  I  submit,  your  Honor,"  he  said,  "  that 
this  inquisition  has  gone  far  enough.  I 
protest  against  my  client  being  prejudiced 


IIO  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

by  the  unauthorized  and  irrelevant  con- 
duct of  any  one." 

The  judge  turned  to  the  district  attorney. 
"Until  you -can  more  closely  connect  the 
defendant  or  his  authorized  agent,"  he  said, 
"  with  the  giving  of  this  money,  we  shall 
be  obliged  to  restrict  you  in  this  course  of 
inquiry." 

Pleadwell  had  made  another  point.  He 
still  felt  that  the  case  was  not  hopeless. 

Then  Summons,  the  private  counsel  for 
the  prosecution,  took  the  witness.  "Tom," 
he  said,  "  did  you  tell  the  truth  in  your 
direct  examination  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir,"  replied  Tom,  "  but  not  the 
whole  truth." 

"Well,  then,  suppose  you  tell  the  rest 
of  it." 

"  I  object,"  interposed  Pleadwell,  "  to 
allowing  this  witness  to  ramble  over  the 
field  of  legal  and  illegal  evidence  at  will. 
If  counsel  has  questions  to  ask,  let  him  ask 
them." 

"  We  will  see  that  the  witness  keeps 
within  proper  limits,"  said  the  judge ;  then, 
turning  to  Tom,  "  Go  on,  sir." 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  Ill 

41  Well,  you  see,"  said  Tom,  "  it  was  all 
just  as  I  told  it ;  only  when  I  got  to  the 
bottom  o'  the  hill,  an'  see  that  man  go  by 
me  in  the  dark,  I  was  s'prised  like,  an'  I 
stopped  an'  listened.  An'  then  I  heard  a 
noise  in  under  the  loadin'-place,  an'  then 
that  man,"  pointing  his  trembling  fore- 
finger to  Rennie,  "  came  out,  a-kind  o' 
talkin'  to  himself.  An'  he  said  that  was 
the  last  job  o'  that  kind  he'd  ever  do;  that 
they  put  it  on  him  'cause  he  hadn't  any- 
body to  feel  bad  over  him  if  he  should  get 
catched  at  it. 

"An'  then  I  see  a  blaze  start  up  right 
where  he  come  from,  an'  it  got  bigger  an' 
bigger.  An'  then  he  turned  an'  see  me, 
an'  he  grabbed  me  by  the  shoulders,  an'  he 
said,  '  Don't  you  speak  nor  whisper,  or  I'll 
take  the  life  o'  ye,'  or  somethin'-like  that; 
I  can't  quite  remember,  I  was  so  scared. 
An'  then  he  pushed  me  down  the  track, 
an'  he  said,  '  Run  as  fast  as  ever  you  can, 
an'  don't  you  dare  to  look  back.' 

"  An'  I  run,  an'  I  didn't  look  back  till 
the  fire  was  a-burnin'  up  awful ;  an'  then  I 
went  with  the  rest  to  look  at  it ;  an'  he 


112  THE  BLIND  BROTHER, 

was  there,  an'  a-workin'  desperate  to  save 
things,  an'  —  an'  —  an'  that's  all." 

Tom  stopped,  literally  panting  for  breath. 
The  jurors  were  leaning  forward  in  their 
seats  to  catch  every  word,  and  over  among 
the  crowded  benches,  where  the  friends  of 
the  prisoner  were  gathered,  there  was  a 
confused  hum  of  voices,  from  which,  now 
and  then,  rose  angry  and  threatening  words. 

Rennie  sat  gazing  intently  upon  Tom,  as 
though  fascinated  by  the  boy's  presence, 
but  on  his  face  there  was  no  sign  of  dis- 
appointment or  anger ;  only  the  same  look 
of  admiration  that  had  come  there  when 
Tom  returned  the  money. 

He  clutched  Pleadwell's  sleeve,  and  said 
to  him,  — 

"  That  settles  it,  mon ;  that  settles  it. 
The  spirit  o'  the  dead  father's  i'  the  lad,  an' 
it's  no  use  o'  fightin'  it.  I'll  plead  guilty 
noo,  an'  end  it,  an'  tak  ma  sentence  an' 
stan'  it.  How  long'll  it  be,  think  ye  ?  " 

"  Twenty  years  in  the  Penitentiary,"  an- 
swered Plead  well,  sharply  and  shortly. 

Rennie  dropped  back  in  his  chair,  as 
though  the  lawyer  had  struck  him. 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  113 

"  Twenty  years !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  twenty 
years  !  That's  a  main  lang  time  ;  I  canna 
stan'  that ;  I  canna  live  through  it.  I'll  no' 
plead  guilty.  Do  what  ye  can  for  me." 

But  there  was  little  that  Pleadwell  could 
do  now.  His  worst  fears  had  been  real- 
ized. He  knew  it  was  running  a  desperate 
risk  to  place  on  the  witness-stand  a  boy 
with  a  conscience  like  Tom's;  but  he  knew, 
also,  that  if  he  could  get  Tom's  story  out 
in  the  shape  he  desired  to,  and  keep  back 
the  objectionable  parts,  his  client  would  go 
free  ;  and  he  had  great  faith  in  the  power  of 
money  to  salve  over  a  bruised  conscience. 

He  had  tried  it  and  failed  ;  and  there 
was  nothing  to  do  now  but  make  the  best 
of  it. 

He  resumed  his  calm  demeanor,  and 
turned  to  Tom  with  the  question,  — 

"Did  you  ever  tell  to  me  the  story  you 
have  just  now  told  on  the  witness-stand, 
or  any  thing  like  it  ? " 

"  I  never  did,"  answered  Tom. 

"  Did  you  ever  communicate  to  me,  in 
any  way,  your  alleged  knowledge  of  Jack 
Rennie's  connection  with  this  fire  ?  " 


114  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

"  No,  sir." 

Pleadwell  had  established  his  own  inno- 
cence, so  far  as  Tom's  story  was  concerned 
at  least,  and  he  dismissed  the  boy  from  the 
witness-stand  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  which 
was  highly  expressive  of  virtuous  indigna- 
tion. 

Tom  resumed  his  seat  by  the  side  of 
Sandy,  whose  mouth  and  eyes  were  still 
wide  open  with  surprise  and  admiration, 
and  who  exclaimed,  as  he  gave  the  boy's 
hand  a  hearty  grip,  — 

"  Weel  done,  Tommy,  ma  lad !  weel 
done  !  I'm  proud  o'  ye  !  an'  Bennie'n  the 
mither'll  be  prouder  yet  o'  ye  !  " 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  since  the 
beginning  of  his  trouble,  Tom  put  his  face 
in  his  hands  and  wept.  But  he  felt  that 
a  great  load  had  been  lifted  from  his  con- 
science, and  that  now  he  could  look  any 
man  in  the  eye. 

There  were  two  or  three  unimportant 
witnesses  sworn  in  rebuttal  and  sur-rebut- 
tal,  and  the  evidence  was  closed. 

Pleadwell  rose  to  address  the  jury,  feel- 
ing that  it  was  a  useless  task  so  far  as  his 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  115 

client  was  concerned,  but  feeling,  also,  that 
he  must  exert  himself  to  the  utmost  in 
order  to  rebut  a  strong  presumption  of 
questionable  conduct  on  his  own  part. 

He  denounced  Tom's  action  in  returning 
the  money  to  him  as  a  dramatic  trick, 
gotten  up  by  the  prosecution  for  effect ; 
and  called  particular  attention  to  his  own 
ignorance  of  the  gift  of  any  such  money. 

He  declared  Tom's  story  of  his  meeting 
with  Rennie,  on  the  night  of  the  fire,  to  be 
improbable  and  false,  and  argued  that  since 
neither  the  prosecution,  nor  the  defence, 
nor  any  one  else,  had  ever  heard  one  word 
of  it  till  it  came  out  on  the  witness-stand, 
it  must,  therefore,  exist  only  in  the  lad's 
heated  imagination. 

He  dwelt  strongly  on  the  probable 
falsity  of  the  testimony  of  the  so-called 
detective ;  went  over  carefully  the  evi- 
dence tending  to  establish  an  alibi  for 
Rennie ;  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  the 
man's  efforts  and  bravery  in  the  work  of 
rescue;  lashed  the  corporations  for  their 
indifference  to  the  wrongs  of  the  working- 
men  ;  spoke  piteously  of  the  fact  that  the 


Il6  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

law  denied  to  Rennie  the  right  of  being 
sworn  in  his  own  behalf ;  and  closed  with 
a  peroration  that  brought  tears  into  the 
eyes  of  half  the  people  in  the  room. 

He  had  made  a  powerful  speech,  and  he 
knew  it ;  but  he  thought  of  its  effect  only 
as  tending  to  his  own  benefit ;  he  had  no 
hope  for  Rennie. 

Mr.  Summons  addressed  the  jury  on  the 
part  of  the  Commonwealth.  He  maintained 
that  the  evidence  of  the  detective,  taken  in 
connection  with  all  the  other  circumstances 
surrounding  the  case,  was  sufficient  to  have 
convicted  the  defendant,  without  further 
proof. 

"  But  the  unexpected  testimony,"  he  de- 
clared, "  of  one  brave  and  high-minded  boy 
has  placed  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner  beyond 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt ;  a  boy  whose  great 
heart  has  caused  him  to  yield  to  tempta- 
tion for  the  sake  of  a  blind  brother  ;  but 
whose  tender  conscience,  whose  heroic  spirit, 
has  led  him  to  throw  off  the  bonds  which 
this  defence  has  placed  upon  him,  and,  in 
the  face  of  all  the  terrors  of  an  order  whose 
words  are  oaths  of  vengeance,  and  whose 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  .        1 17 

acts  are  deeds  of  blood,  to  fling  their  hated 
bribes  at  their  feet,  as  they  sat  in  the  very 
court  of  justice  ;  and  to  '  tell  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,'  for 
the  sake  of  his  own  honor  and  the  uphold- 
ing of  the  law." 

Warming  up  to  his  theme,  and  its  pos- 
sibilities in  the  way  of  oratorical  effect, 
Summons  brought  wit  to  bear  upon  logic, 
and  logic  upon  law,  and  eloquence  upon 
both,  until,  at  the  close  of  his  address,  the 
conviction  of  the  defendant  was  all  but 
certain,  and  Tom's  position  as  a  hero  was 
well  assured. 

Then  came  the  charge  of  the  court ; 
plain,  decisive,  reviewing  the  evidence  in 
brief,  calling  the  attention  of  the  jury  to 
their  duty  both  to  the  Commonwealth  and 
to  the  defendant,  directing  them  that  the 
defendant's  guilt  must  be  established,  in 
their  minds,  beyond  a  reasonable  doubt, 
before  they  could  convict ;  but  that,  if  they 
should  reach  that  point,  then  their  verdict 
should  be  simply  "  Guilty." 

The  jury  passed  out  of  the  court-room, 
headed  by  a  constable,  after  which  counsel 


Il8  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

for  the  defendant  filed  exceptions  to  the 
charge,  and  the  court  proceeded  to  other 
business. 

Very  few  people  left  the  court-room,  as 
every  one  supposed  it  would  not  be  long 
before  the  bringing  in  of  a  verdict,  and 
they  were  not  mistaken.  It  was  barely 
half  an  hour  from  the  time  the  jury  retired 
until  they  filed  back  again,  and  resumed 
their  seats  in  the  jury-box. 

41  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  the  clerk 
of  the  court,  rising,  "  have  you  agreed  upon 
a  verdict  ?  " 

"  We  have,"  replied  the  foreman,  nand- 
ing  a  paper  to  a  tipstaff,  which  he  handed 
to  the  clerk ;  and  the  clerk  in  turn  handed 
it  to  the  presiding  judge. 

The  judges,  one  after  another,  read  the 
paper,  nodded  their  approval,  and  returned 
it  to  the  clerk,  who  glanced  over  its  con- 
tents, and  then  addressed  the  jury  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  hearken  unto 
your  verdict  as  the  court  have  it  recorded. 
In  the  case  wherein  the  Commonwealth  is 
plaintiff  and  Jack  Rennie  is  defendant,  you 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  1 19 

say  you  find  the  defendant  guilty.  So  say 
you  all  ?  " 

The  members  of  the  jury  nodded  their 
heads,  the  clerk  resumed  his  seat,  and  the 
trial  of  Jack  Rennie  was  concluded. 

It  was  what  every  one  had  anticipated, 
and  people  began  to  leave  the  court-room, 
with  much  noise  and  confusion. 

Rennie  was  talking,  in  a  low  tone,  with 
Pleadwell  and  Carolan,  while  the  sheriff, 
who  had  advanced  to  take  charge  of  the 
prisoner,  stood  waiting  for  them  to  con- 
clude the  conference. 

"  I  don't  want  the  lad  harmed,"  said 
Rennie,  talking  earnestly  to  Carolan,  "  him, 
nor  his  mither,  nor  his  brither ;  not  a  hair 
o'  his  head,  nor  a  mou'-ful  o'  his  bread, 
noo  min'  ye  —  I  ha'  reasons  —  the  mon 
that  so  much  as  lays  a  straw  i'  the  lad's 
path  shall  suffer  for't,  if  I  have  to  live  a 
hunder'  year  to  tak'  ma  vengeance  o'  him!" 

The  sonorous  voice  of  the  court-crier, 
adjourning  the  courts  until  the  following 
morning,  echoed  through  the  now  half- 
emptied  room,  and  the  sheriff  said  to 
Rennie,  — 


I2O  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

"  Well,  Jack,  I'm  waiting  for  you." 

"  Then  ye  need  na  wait  longer,  for  I'm 
ready  to  go  wi'  ye,  an'  I'm  hungry  too." 
And  Rennie  held  out  his  hands  to  receive 
the  handcuffs  which  the  sheriff  had  taken 
from  his  pocket.  For  some  reason,  they 
would  not  clasp  over  the  man's  huge 
wrists. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  officer,  "  I  have 
the  wrong  pair.  Simpson,"  turning  to  his 
deputy,  "go  down  to  my  office  and  bring 
me  the  large  handcuffs  lying  on  my  table." 

Simpson  started,  but  the  sheriff  called 
him  back. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said,  "  it  won't  pay ; 
Jack  won't  try  to  get  away  from  us,  will 
you,  Jack  ? "  drawing  a  revolver  from  his 
pocket  as  he  spoke,  and  grasping  it  firmly 
in  his  right  hand,  with  his  finger  on  the 
trigger. 

"  D'ye  tak'  me  for  a  fool,  mon  ? "  said 
Rennie,  laughing,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
weapon ;  then,  turning  to  Carolan  and 
Pleadwell,  he  continued,  "  Good-nicht ; 
good-nicht  and  sweet  dreams  till  ye ! " 
Jack  had  never  seemed  in  a  gayer  mood 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  121 

than  as  he  marched  off  through  the  side- 
door,  with  the  sheriff  and  his  deputy ; 
perhaps  it  was  the  gayety  of  despair. 

Carolan  had  not  replied  to  the  prisoner's 
cheery  "  good-nicht."  He  had  looked  on 
at  the  action  of  the  sheriff,  with  a  curious 
expression  in  his  eyes,  until  the  trio  started 
away,  and  then  he  had  hurried  from  the 
court-room  at  a  gait  which  made  Pleadwell 
stare  after  him  in  astonishment. 

It  was  dark  outside ;  very  dark.  A 
heavy  fog  had  come  up  from  the  river  and 
enshrouded  the  entire  city.  The  street- 
lamps  shone  but  dimly  through  the  thick 
mist,  and  a  fine  rain  began  to  fall,  as  Tom 
and  Sandy  hurried  along  to  their  hotel, 
where  they  were  to  have  supper,  before 
going,  on  the  late  train,  to  their  homes. 

Up  from  the  direction  of  the  court-house 
came  to  their  ears  a  confusion  of  noises ; 
the  shuffling  of  many  feet,  loud  voices, 
hurried  calls,  two  pistol-shots  in  quick  suc- 
cession ;  a  huge,  panting  figure  pushing 
by  them,  and  disappearing  in  the  fog  and 
darkness  ;  by  and  by,  excited  men  hurrying 
toward  them. 


122  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Sandy. 
And  some   one,  back    in    the   mist,  re- 
plied, — 

"  Jack  Rennie  has  escaped  !  " 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  123 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    FALL. 

IT  was  true.  Carolan's  quick  eye  had 
noticed  the  opportunity  for  Rennie  to 
escape,  and  his  fertile  brain  had  been  swift 
in  planning  an  immediate  rescue.  The  few 
members  of  his  order  that  he  could  find  on 
the  instant  were  gathered  together ;  there 
was  a  sudden  onslaught  at  a  dark  corner 
of  the  Court- House  Square ;  the  sheriff 
and  his  deputy  lay  prone  upon  the  ground, 
and  their  prisoner  was  slipping  away 
through  the  dark,  foggy  streets,  with  a 
policeman's  bullet  whizzing  past  his  ears, 
and  his  band  of  rescuers  struggling  with 
the  amazed  officers. 

But  the  sheriff  of  Luzerne  County  never 
saw  Jack  Rennie  again,  nor  was  the  hand 
of  the  law  ever  again  laid  upon  him,  in 
arrest  or  punishment. 


124  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

As  Tom  walked  home  from  the  railroad 
station  that  night  through  the  drizzling 
rain,  his  heart  was  lighter  than  it  had  been 
for  many  a  day. 

True,  he  was  nervous  and  worn  with 
excitement  and  fatigue,  but  there  was  with 
him  a  sense  of  duty  done,  even  though 
tardily,  which  brought  peace  into  his  mind 
and  lightness  to  his  footsteps. 

After  the  first  greetings  were  had,  and 
the  little  home  group  of  three  was  seated 
together  by  the  fire  to  question  and  to  talk, 
Tom  opened  his  whole  heart.  While  his 
mother  and  Bennie  listened  silently,  often 
with  tears,  he  told  the  story  of  his  adven- 
ture at  the  breaker  on  the  night  of  the  fire, 
of  his  temptation  and  fall  at  Wilkesbarre, 
of  his  mental  perplexity  and  acute  suffer- 
ing, of  the  dramatic  incidents  of  the  trial, 
and  of  his  own  release  from  the  bondage 
of  bribery. 

When  his  tale  was  done,  the  poor  blind 
brother,  for  whose  sake  he  had  stepped  into 
the  shadow  of  sin,  and  paid  the  penalty, 
declared,  with  laughter  and  with  tears,  that 
he  had  never  before  been  so  proud  of  Tom 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  12$ 

and  so  fond  of  him  as  he  was  at  that 
moment ;  and  the  dear,  good  mother  took 
the  big  fellow  on  her  lap,  as  she  used  to  do 
when  he  was  a  little  child,  and  held  him  up 
close  to  her  heart,  and  rocked  him  till  he 
fell  asleep,  and  into  his  curly  hair  dropped 
now  and  then  a  tear,  that  was  not  the  out- 
come of  sorrow,  but  of  deep  maternal  joy. 

It  was  well  along  in  December  before 
the  strike  came  to  an  end.  There  had 
been  rumors  for  a  week  of  an  approaching 
compromise  between  the  miners  and  the 
operators,  but  one  day  there  came  word 
that  all  hands  were  to  be  at  the  mines, 
ready  for  work,  the  following  morning. 

It  was  glad  news  for  many  a  poor  family, 
who  saw  the  holidays  approaching  in 
company  with  bitter  want ;  and  it  brought 
especial  rejoicing  to  the  little  household 
dependent  so  largely  on  the  labor  of  Tom 
and  Bennie  for  subsistence. 

The  boys  were  at  the  entrance  to  the 
mine  the  next  morning  before  the  stars 
began  to  pale  in  the  east.  They  climbed 
into  a  car  of  the  first  trip,  and  rode  down 
the  slope  to  the  music  of  echoes  roaring 


126  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

through  galleries  that  had  long  been 
silent. 

The  mules  had  been  brought  in  the  day 
before,  and  Tom  ran  whistling  to  the  mine 
stables  to  untie  his  favorite  Billy,  and  set 
him  to  his  accustomed  task.  There  came 
soon  a  half-dozen  or  more  of  driver-boys, 
and  such  a  shouting  and  laughing  and  chat- 
tering ensued  as  made  the  beasts  prick  up 
their  long  ears  in  amazement. 

"  All  aboard  !  "  shouted  Tom,  as  he  fast- 
ened his  trace-hook  to  the  first  trip  of  cars. 
"  Through  train  to  the  West !  No  stops 
this  side  o'  Chicorgo  !  " 

"  'Commodation  ahead  !  Parly  cars  on 
the  nex*  train,  an'  no  porters  'lowed ! " 
squeaked  out  a  little  fellow,  backing  his 
mule  up  to  the  second  trip. 

"  I'll  poke  the  fire  a  bit  an'  git  the  steam 
up  fur  yez,"  said  Patsey  Donnelly,  the 
most  mischievous  lad  of  them  all.  Where- 
upon he  prodded  Tom's  mule  viciously  in 
the  ribs,  and  that  beast  began  playing  such 
a  tattoo  with  his  heels  against  the  front  of 
the  car  as  drowned  all  other  noises  in  its 
clatter. 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  1 29 

"  Whoa,  Billy  !  "  shouted  Tom,  helping 
Bennie  into  the  rear  car  of  the  trip. 
"Whoa,  now!  Stiddy — there,  git-tup!" 
cracking  his  long  leather  whip-lash  over 
Billy's  ears  as  he  spoke,  and  climbing  into 
the  front  car.  "Git-tup!  Go  it !  Whoop!" 

Away  went  Tom  and  Bennie,  rattling  up 
the  long  heading,  imitating  alternately  the 
noise  of  the  bell,  the  whistle,  and  the 
labored  puffing  of  a  locomotive  engine  ; 
while  the  sound-waves,  unable  to  escape 
from  the  narrow  passage  which  confined 
them,  rolled  back  into  their  ears  in  volumes 
of  resounding  echoes. 

Ah,  they  were  happy  boys  that  morning! 
happy  even  though  one  was  smitten  with 
the  desolation  of  blindness,  and  both  were 
compelled  to  labor,  from  daylight  to  dark, 
in  the  grimy  recesses  of  the  mine,  for  the 
pittance  that  brought  their  daily  bread  ; 
happy,  because  they  were  young  and  free- 
hearted and  innocent,  and  contented  with 
their  lot. 

And  Tom  was  thrice  happy,  in  that  he 
had  rolled  away  the  burden  of  an  accusing 
conscience,  and  felt  the  high  pleasure  that 


I3O  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

nothing-  else  on  earth  can  so  fully  bring  as 
the  sense  of  duty  done,  against  the  frown- 
ing face  and  in  the  threatening  teeth  of 
danger. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  there  came  upon 
him  a  sudden  fear  of  the  vengeance  he 
might  meet  at  Rennie's  hands  ;  but  as  the 
days  passed  by  this  fear  disturbed  him  less 
and  less,  and  the  buoyancy  of  youth  pre- 
served him  from  depressing  thoughts  of 
danger. 

Billy,  too,  was  in  good  spirits  that  morn- 
ing, and  drew  the  cars  rapidly  along  the 
heading,  swinging  around  the  sharp  curves 
so  swiftly  that  the  yellow  flame  from  the 
little  tin  lamp  was  blown  down  to  the 
merest  spark  of  blue  ;  and  stopping  at  last 
by  the  door  in  the  entrance,  where  Bennie 
was  to  dismount  and  sit  all  day  at  his 
lonely  task. 

Three  times  Tom  went  down  to  the  slope 
that  morning,  through  Bennie's  door,  with 
his  trip  of  loads,  and  three  times  he  came 
back,  with  his  trip  of  lights ;  and  the  third 
time  he  stopped  to  sit  with  his  brother  on 
the  bench,  and  to  eat,  from  the  one  pail 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  131 

which  served  them  both,  the  plain  but  sat- 
isfying dinner  which  Mommie  had  prepared 
for  them. 

Tom  was  still  light-hearted  and  jovial, 
but  upon  Bennie  there  seemed  to  have 
fallen  since  morning  a  shadow  of  soberness. 
To  sit  for  hours  with  only  one's  thoughts 
for  company,  and  with  the  oppressive 
silence  broken  only  at  long  intervals  by  the 
passing  trips,  this  alone  is  enough  to  cast 
gloom  upon  the  spirits  of  the  most  cheerful. 

But  something  more  than  this  was 
weighing  upon  Bennie's  mind,  for  he  told 
Tom,  when  they  had  done  eating,  that 
every  time  it  grew  still  around  him,  and 
there  were  no  cars  in  the  heading  or  air- 
way, and  no  noises  to  break  the  silence,  he 
could  hear,  somewhere  down  below  him, 
the  "working"  of  the  mine.  He  had  heard 
it  all  the  morning  he  said,  when  every 
thing  was  quiet,  and,  being  alone  so,  it 
made  him  nervous  and  afraid. 

"  I  could  stan'  most  any  thing,"  he  said, 
"  but  to  get  caught  in  a  '  fall.'  " 

"  Le's  listen  an'  see  if  we  can  hear  it 
now,"  said  Tom. 


132  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

Then  both  boys  kept  very  quiet  for  a 
little  while,  and  sure  enough,  over  in  the 
darkness,  they  heard  an  occasional  snap- 
ping, like  the  breaking  of  dry  twigs  beneath 
the  feet. 

The  process  which  the  miners  call  "work- 
ing "  was  going  on.  The  pressure  of  the 
overlying  mass  of  rock  upon  the  pillars  of 
coal  left  to  support  it  was  becoming  so 
great  that  it  could  not  be  sustained,  and 
the  gradual  yielding  of  the  pillars  to  this 
enormous  weight  was  being  manifested  by 
the  crackling  noises  that  proceeded  from 
them,  and  the  crumbling  of  tiny  bits  of 
coal  from  their  bulging  surfaces. 

The  sound  of  working  pillars  is  fa- 
miliar to  frequenters  of  the  mines,  and  is 
the  well-known  warning  which  precedes 
a  fall.  The  remedy  is  to  place  wooden 
props  beneath  the  roof  for  additional  sup- 
port, and,  if  this  is  not  done,  there  comes 
a  time,  sooner  or  later,  when  the  strained 
pillars  suddenly  give  way,  and  the  whole 
mass  comes  crashing  down,  to  fill  the  gang- 
ways and  chambers  over  an  area  as  great 
as  that  through  which  the  working  ex- 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  133 

tended,  and  to  block  the  progress  of  min- 
ing for  an  indefinite  time. 

Tom  had  been  too  long  about  the  mines 
to  be  ignorant  of  all  this,  and  so  had  Ben- 
nie ;  but  they  knew,  too,  that  the  working 
often  continued  weeks,  and  sometimes 
months,  before  the  fall  would  take  place, 
though  it  might,  indeed,  come  at  any 
moment. 

That  afternoon  Tom  told  the  slope  boss 
about  the  working,  and  he  came  and  made 
an  examination,  and  said  he  thought  there 
was  no  immediate  danger,  but  that  he  would 
give  orders  to  have  the  extra  propping  of 
the  place  begun  on  the  following  day. 

"  Jimmie  Travis  said  he  seen  rats  goin' 
out  o'  the  slope,  though,  when  he  come 
in,"  said  Tom,  after  relating  to  Bennie  the 
opinion  of  the  mine  boss. 

"  Then  'twon't  be  long,"  replied  Bennie, 
"  'fore  the  fall  comes." 

He  was  simply  echoing  the  belief  of  all 
miners,  that  rats  will  leave  a  mine  in  which 
a  fall  is  about  to  take  place.  Sailors  have 
the  same  belief  concerning  a  ship  about  to 
sink. 


134  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

"  An'  when  the  rats  begin  to  go  out," 
added  Bennie,  "  it's  time  for  men  an'  boys 
to  think  about  goin'  out  too." 

Somehow,  the  child  seemed  to  have  a 
premonition  of  disaster. 

The  afternoon  wore  on  very  slowly,  and 
Bennie  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief  when  he 
heard  Tom's  last  trip  come  rumbling  down 
the  airway. 

"  Give  me  the  dinner-pail,  Bennie  !  " 
shouted  Tom,  as  the  door  closed  behind 
the  last  car,  "  an'  you  catch  on  behind  — 
Whoa,  Billy!"  as  the  mule  trotted  on 
around  the  corner  into  the  heading. 

"  Come,  Bennie,  quick  !  Give  me  your 
hand ;  we'll  have  to  run  to  catch  him 
now." 

But  even  as  the  last  word  trembled  on 
the  boy's  lips,  there  came  a  blast  of  air, 
like  a  mighty  wind,  and  in  the  next  instant 
a  noise  as  of  bursting  thunder,  and  a  crash 
that  shook  the  foundations  of  the  mines, 
and  the  two  boys  were  hurled  helplessly 
against  Bennie's  closed  door  behind  them. 

The  fall  had  come. 

The  terrible  roar  died  away  in  a  series 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  135 

of  rumbling  echoes,  and,  at  last,  stillness 
reigned. 

"  Bennie!" 

It  was  Tom  who  spoke. 

"  Bennie !  " 

He  called  the  name  somewhat  feebly. 

"  Bennie !  " 

It  was  a  shout  at  last,  and  there  was 
terror  in  his  voice. 

He  raised  himself  to  his  feet,  and  stood 
leaning  against  the  shattered  frame-work 
of  the  door.  He  felt  weak  and  dizzy.  He 
was  bruised  and  bleeding,  too,  but  he 
did  not  know  it ;  he  was  not  thinking  of 
himself,  but  of  Bennie,  who  had  not  an- 
swered to  his  call,  and  who  might  be  dead. 

He  was  in  total  darkness,  but  he  had 
matches  in  his  pocket.  He  drew  one  out 
and  stood,  for  a  moment,  in  trembling 
hesitancy,  dreading  what  its  light  might 
disclose.  Then  he  struck  it,  and  there, 
almost  at  his  feet,  lay  his  cap,  with  his  lamp 
still  attached  to  it. 

He  lighted  the  lamp  and  looked  farther. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  entrance,  half- 
hidden  by  the  wreck  of  the  door,  he  saw 


136  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

Bermie,  lying  on  his  side,  quite  still.  He 
bent  down  and  flashed  the  light  into  Ben- 
nie's  face.  As  he  did  so  the  blind  boy 
opened  his  eyelids,  sighed,  moved  his 
hands,  and  tried  to  rise. 

"Tom!" 

The  word  came  in  a  whisper  from  his 
lips. 

"  Yes,  Bennie,  I'm  here  ;  are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"No  —  yes  —  I  don't  know;  what  was 
it,  Tom  ?  " 

"The  fall,  I  guess.  Can  you  get  up? 
Here,  I'll  help  you." 

Bennie  gained  his  feet.  He  was  not 
much  hurt.  The  door  had  given  way 
readily  when  the  boys  were  forced  against 
it,  and  so  had  broken  the  severity  of  the 
shock.  But  both  lads  had  met  with  some 
cuts  and  some  severe  bruises. 

"  Have  you  got  a  lamp,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  just  found  it ;  come  on,  let's 
go  home." 

Tom  took  Bennie's  hand  and  turned  to 
go  out,  but  the  first  step  around  the  pillar, 
into  the  heading,  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  a  wall  of  solid  rock  which  filled  every 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  137 

inch  of  the  passage.  It  had  dropped,  like 
a  curtain,  blotting  out,  in  one  instant,  the 
mule  and  the  cars,  and  forming  an  impassa- 
ble barrier  to  the  further  progress  of  the 
boys  in  that  direction. 

"We  can't  get  out  this  way,"  said  Tom  ; 
"  we'll  have  to  go  up  through  the  airway." 

They  went  back  into  the  airway,  and 
were  met  by  a  similar  impenetrable  mass. 

Then  they  went  up  into  the  short  cham- 
bers beyond  the  airway,  and  Tom  flashed 
the  light  of  his  lamp  into  every  entrance, 
only  to  find  it  blocked  and  barred  by  the 
roof-rock  from  the  fall. 

"  We'll  have  to  go  back  up  the  headin'," 
said  Tom,  at  last,  "  an'  down  through  the 
old  chambers,  an'  out  to  the  slope  that 
way." 

But  his  voice  was  weak  and  cheerless, 
for  the  fear  of  a  terrible  possibility  had 
grown  up  in  his  mind.  He  knew  that,  if 
the  fall  extended  across  the  old  chambers 
to  the  west  wall  of  the  mine,  as  was  more 
than  likely,  they  were  shut  in  beyond  hope 
of  escape,  perhaps  beyond  hope  of  rescue  ; 
and  if  such  were  to  be  their  fate,  then  it 


138  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

would  have  been  far  better  if  they  were 
lying  dead  under  the  fallen  rock,  with  Billy 
and  the  cars. 

Hand  in  hand  the  two  boys  went  up  the 
heading,  to  the  first  opening  in  the  lower 
wall,  and  creeping  over  the  pile  of  "  gob  " 
that  partially  blocked  the  entrance,  they 
passed  down  into  a  series  of  chambers  that 
had  been  worked  out  years  before,  from  a 
heading  driven  on  a  lower  level. 

Striking  across  through  the  entrances,  in 
the  direction  of  the  slope,  they  came,  at 
last,  as  Torn  had  expected  and  feared,  to 
the  line  of  the  fall :  a  mass  of  crushed  coal 
and  broken  rock  stretching  diagonally 
across  the  range  of  chambers  towards  the 
heading  below. 

But  perhaps  it  did  not  reach  to  that 
heading;  perhaps  the  heading  itself  was 
still  free  from  obstruction  ! 

This  was  the  only  hope  now  left ;  and 
Tom  grasped  Bennie's  hand  more  tightly 
in  his,  and  hurried,  almost  ran,  down  the 
long,  wide  chamber,  across  the  airway  and 
into  the  heading. 

They  had  gone  scarce  twenty  rods  along 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  139 

the  heading,  when  that  cruel,  jagged  wall 
of  rock  rose  up  before  them,  marking  the 
confines  of  the  most  cheerless  prison  that 
ever  held  a  hopeless  human  being. 

When  Tom  saw  it  he  stopped,  and 
Bennie  said,  "  Have  we  come  to  it, 
Tom  ?  " 

Tom  answered :  "  It's  there,  Bennie," 
and  sank  down  upon  a  jutting  rock,  with  a 
sudden  weakness  upon  him,  and  drew  the 
blind  boy  to  a  seat  beside  him. 

"We're  shut  in,  Bennie,"  he  said.  "We'll 
never  get  out  till  they  break  a  way  into  us, 
and,  maybe,  by  the  time  they  do  that,  it'll 
be  —  'twon't  be  worth  while." 

Bennie  clung  tremblingly  to  Tom  ;  but, 
even  in  his  fright,  it  came  into  his  mind  to 
say  something  reassuring,  and,  thinking  of 
his  lonesome  adventure  on  the  day  of  the 
strike,  he  whispered,  "  Well,  'taint  so  bad 
as  it  might  be,  Tom ;  they  might  'a'  been 
one  of  us  shut  up  here  alone,  an'  that'd  'a' 
been  awful." 

"  I  wish  it  had  'a'  been  one  of  us  alone," 
answered  Tom,  "  for  Mommie's  sake.  I 
wish  it'd  'a'  been  only  me.  Mommie 


140  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

couldn't  ever  stan'  it  to  lose  —  both  of  us 
—  like  —  this." 

For  their  own  misfortune,  these  boys  had 
not  shed  a  tear ;  but,  at  the  mention  of 
Mommie's  name,  they  both  began  to  weep, 
and,  for  many  minutes,  the  noise  of  their 
sobbing  and  crying  was  the  only  sound 
heard  in  the  desolate  heading. 

Tom  was  the  first  to  recover. 

A  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  the 
situation  had  come  to  him.  He  knew  that 
strength  was  wasted  in  tears.  And  he 
knew  that  the  greater  the  effort  towards 
physical  endurance,  towards  courage  and 
manhood,  the  greater  the  hope  that  they 
might  live  until  a  rescuing  party  could 
reach  them.  Besides  this,  it  was  his  place, 
as  the  older  and  stronger  of  the  two,  to  be 
very  brave  and  cheerful  for  Bennie's  sake. 
So  he  dried  his  tears,  and  fought  back  his 
terror,  and  spoke  soothing  words  to  Ben- 
nie,  and  even  as  he  did  so,  his  own  heart 
grew  stronger,  and  he  felt  better  able  to 
endure  until  the  end,  whatever  the  end 
might  be. 

"  God  can  see  us,  down  in  the  mine,  just 


THE   BLIND  BROTHER.  14! 

as  well  as  He  could  up  there  in  the  sun- 
light," he  said  to  Bennie,  "  an'  whatever 
He'd  do  for  us  up  there  He'll  do  for  us 
down  here.  An'  there's  them  'at  won't  let 
us  die  here,  either,  w'ile  they've  got  hands 
to  dig  us  out ;  an'  I  shouldn't  wonder —  I 
shouldn't  wonder  a  bit  —  if  they  were 
a-diggin'  for  us  now." 

After  a  time,  Tom  concluded  that  he 
would  pass  up  along  the  line  of  the  fall, 
through  the  old  chambers,  and  see  if  there 
was  not  some  opening  left  through  which 
escape  would  be  possible. 

So  he  took  Bennie's  hand  again,  and  led 
him  slowly  up  through  the  abandoned 
workings,  in  and  out,  to  the  face  of  the 
fall  at  every  point  where  it  was  exposed, 
only  to  find,  always,  the  masses  of  broken 
and  tumbled  rock,  reaching  from  floor  to 
roof. 

Yet  not  always  !  Once,  as  Tom  flashed 
the  lamp-light  up  into  a  blocked  entrance, 
he  discovered  a  narrow  space  between  the 
top  of  the  fallen  rock  and  the  roof,  and, 
releasing  Bennie's  hand,  and  climbing  up 
to  it,  with  much  difficulty,  he  found  that  he 


142  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

was  able  to  crawl  through  into  a  little  open 
place  in  the  next  chamber. 

From  here  he  passed  readily  through  an 
unblocked  entrance  into  the  second  cham- 
ber, and,  at  some  little  distance  down  it,  he 
found  another  open  entrance.  The  light 
of  hope  flamed  up  in  his  breast  as  he  crept 
along  over  the  smooth,  sloping  surfaces 
of  fallen  rock,  across  one  chamber  after 
another,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  slope, 
nearer  and  nearer  to  freedom,  and  the 
blessed  certainty  of  life.  Then,  suddenly, 
in  the  midst  of  his  reviving  hope,  he  came 
to  a  place  where  the  closest  scrutiny  failed 
to  reveal  an  opening  large  enough  for  even 
his  small  body  to  force  its  way  through. 
Sick  at  heart,  in  spite  of  his  self-determined 
courage,  he  crawled  back  through  the  fall, 
up  the  free  passages  and  across  the  slip- 
pery rocks,  to  where  Bennie  stood  waiting. 

"  I  didn't  find  any  thing,"  he  said,  in  as 
strong  a  voice  as  he  could  command. 
"  Come,  le's  go  on  up." 

He  took  Bennie's  hand  and  moved  on. 
But,  as  he  turned  through  an  entrance  into 
the  next  chamber,  he  was  startled  to  see, 


THE   BLIND   BROTHER.  145 

in  the  distance,  the  light  of  another  lamp. 
The  sharp  ears  of  the  blind  boy  caught  the 
sound  of  footsteps. 

"  Somebody's  comin',  Tom,"  he  said. 

"  I  see  the  lamp,"  Tom  answered,  "  but 
I  don't  know  who  it  can  be.  There  wasn't 
anybody  in  the  new  chambers  w'en  I  started 
down  with  the  load.  All  the  men  went 
out  quite  a  bit  ahead  o'  me." 

The  two  boys  stood  still  ;  the  strange 
light  approached,  and,  with  the  light,  ap- 
peared, to  Tom's  astonished  eyes,  the  huge 
form  and  bearded  face  of  Jack  Rennie. 


146  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   SHADOW   OF   DEATH. 

"Wnv,  lads ! "  exclaimed  Rennie ;  "  lads ! " 
Then,  flashing  the  light  of  his  lamp  into 
the  boys'  faces,  "  What,  Tom,  is  it  you  ? 
you  and  the  blind  brither  ?  Ah !  but  it's 
main  bad  for  ye,  bairnies,  main  bad  — 
an'  warse  yet  for  the  poor  mither  at 
hame." 

When  Tom  first  recognized  Rennie,  he 
could  not  speak  for  fear  and  amazement. 
The  sudden  thought  that  he  and  Bennie 
were  alone,  in  the  power  of  this  giant 
whose  liberty  he  had  sworn  away,  over- 
came his  courage.  But  when  the  kindly 
voice  and  sympathizing  words  fell  on  his 
ears,  his  fear  departed,  and  he  was  ready 
to  fraternize  with  the  convict,  as  a  com- 
panion in  distress. 

"Tom,"  whispered  Bennie,  "  I  know  his 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  147 

voice.  It's  the  man  'at  talked  so  kind  to 
me  on  the  day  o'  the  strike." 

"  I  remember  ye,  laddie,"  said  Jack. 
"  I  remember  ye  richt  well."  Then,  turn- 
ing to  Tom,  "  Ye  were  comin'  up  the  fall ; 
did  ye  find  any  openin?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tom,  speaking  for  the  first 
time  since  the  meeting;  "  none  that's  any 
good." 

"  An'  there's  naught  above,  either,"  re- 
plied Jack  ;  "  so  we've  little  to  do  but  wait. 
Sit  ye  doon,  lads,  an'  tell  me  how  ye  got 
caught." 

Seated  on  a  shelf  of  rock,  Tom  told  in 
a  few  words  how  he  and  Bennie  had  been 
shut  in  by  the  fall.  Then  Jack  related  to 
the  boys  the  story  of  his  escape  from  the 
sheriff,  and  how  his  comrades  had  spirited 
him  away  into  these  abandoned  workings, 
and  were  supplying  him  with  food  until 
such  time  as  he  could  safely  go  out  in  dis- 
guise, and  take  ship  for  Europe. 

There  he  was  when  the  crash  came. 

"  Noo  ye  mus'  wait  \vi'  patience,"  he 
said.  "  It'll  no'  be  for  lang ;  they'll  soon 
be  a-comin'  for  ye.  The  miners  ha'  strong 


148  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

arms  an'  stoot  Herts,  an'  ye'll  hear  their 
picks  a-tap-tappin'  awa'  i'  the  headin'  —  to- 
morrow, mayhap." 

"  An'  is  it  night  now  ?"  asked  Bennie. 

"  It  mus'  be,  lad.  I  ha'  naught  to  mark 
the  time  by,  but  it  mus'  be  along  i'  the 
evenin'." 

"  But,"  interrupted  Tom,  as  the  thought 
struck  him,  "  if  they  find  you  here,  you'll 
have  to  go  back  to  the  jail." 

"  I  ha'  thocht  o'  that,"  answered  Jack. 
"  I  ha'  thocht  o'  that,  an'  my  min's  made 
up.  I'll  go  back,  an'  stan'  ma  sentence.  I 
ha'  deserved  it.  I'd  ha'  no  peace  o'  min' 
a-wanderin'  o'er  the  earth  a-keepin'  odt  o' 
the  way  o'  the  law.  An'  maybe,  if  I  lived 
ma  sentence  oot,  I  could  do  some'at  that's 
better.  But  I'll  no'  hide  any  longer ;  I 
canna  do  it !  " 

Off  somewhere  in  the  fall  there  was  a 
grinding,  crunching  sound  for  a  minute, 
and  then  a  muffled  crash.  Some  loosened 
portion  of  the  roof  had  fallen  in. 

For  a  long  time  Jack  engaged  the  boys  in 
conversation,  holding  their  minds  as  much 
as  possible  from  the  fate  of  imprisonment. 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  149 

Toward  midnight  Bennie  complained  of 
feeling  hungry,  and  Jack  went  down  into 
the  old  chambers  where  he  had  been  stay- 
ing, and  came  back  after  a  while  with  a 
basket  of  food  and  a  couple  of  coarse  blan- 
kets, and  then  they  all  went  up  to  Bennie's 
doorway.  Tom's  oil  was  up  there,  and 
their  lamps  needed  filling.  It  seemed 
more  like  home  up  there  too ;  and,  besides 
that,  it  was  the  point  toward  which  a  rescu- 
ing party  would  be  most  likely  to  work. 

Jack's  basket  was  only  partly  full  of 
food,  but  there  would  be  enough,  he 
thought,  to  last,  by  economical  use,  during 
the  following  day.  He  ate  none  of  it  him- 
self, however,  and  the  boys  ate  but  spar- 
ingly. 

Then  they  made  up  a  little  platform 
from  the  boards  and  timbers  of  the  ruined 
door,  and  spread  the  blankets  on  it,  and 
induced  Bennie,  who  seemed  to  be  weak 
and  nervous,  to  lie  down  on  it  and  try  to 
sleep.  But  the  lad  was  very  restless,  and 
slept  only  at  intervals,  as,  indeed,  did  Tom 
and  Jack,  *  one  of  whom  had  stretched 
himself  out  on  the  bench,  while  the  other 


I5O  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

sat  on  the  mine  floor,  reclining  against  a 
pillar. 

When  they  thought  it  was  morning,  they 
all  arose  and  walked  around  a  little,  and 
the  boys  ate  another  portion  of  the  food 
from  the  basket.  But  Jack  did  not  touch 
it ;  he  was  not  hungry,  he  said,  and  he 
went  off  into  the  new  chambers  to  explore 
the  place. 

After  a  while  he  came  back  and  sat 
down,  and  began  telling  stories  of  his  boy- 
hood life  in  the  old  country,  intermingling 
with  them  many  a  marvellous  tale  and 
strange  adventure,  and  so  he  entertained 
the  boys  for  hours. 

It  must  have  been  well  on  into  the  after- 
noon that  Tom  took  to  walking  up  and 
down  the  heading.  Sometimes  Jack  went 
with  him,  but  oftener  he  remained  to  talk 
with  Bennie,  who  still  seemed  weak  and  ill, 
and  who  lay  down  on  the  blankets  again 
later  on,  and  fell  asleep. 

The  flame  of  the  little  lamp  burned  up 
dimly.  More  oil  and  a  fresh  wick  were 
put  in,  but  the  blaze  was  still  spiritless. 

Jack  knew  well  enough  what  the  trouble 


THE   BLIND  BROTHER.  151 

was.  There  were  places  up  in  the  new 
chambers  where  the  deadly  carbonic  acid 
gas  was  escaping  into  the  prison,  adding, 
with  terrible  rapidity,  to  the  amount  pro- 
duced by  exhalation  and  combustion.  But 
he  said  nothing ;  the  boys  did  not  know, 
and  it  would  be  useless  to  alarm  them 
further. 


Bennie  started  and  moaned  now  and  then 
in  his  sleep,  and  finally  awoke,  crying.  He 
had  had  bad  dreams,  he  said. 

Jack  thought  it  must  be  late  in  the  second 
evening  of  their  imprisonment. 

He  took  all  the  food  from  the  basket, 
and  divided  it  into  three  equal  parts.  It 


152  THE   BUND   BROTHER. 

would  be  better  to  eat  it,  he  thought,  before 
actual  suffering  from  hunger  began.  They 
would  be  better  able  to  hold  out  in  the 
end. 

Nevertheless,  he  laid  his  portion  back  in 
the  basket. 

"  I  haven't  the  stomach  for  it  just  noo," 
he  said.  "  Mayhap  it'll  taste  better  an'  I 
wait  a  bit." 

There  was  plenty  of  water.  A  little 
stream  ran  down  through  the  airway,  from 
which  the  pail  had  been  repeatedly  filled. 

The  night  wore  on. 

The  first  sound  of  rescue  had  not  yet 
been  heard. 

By-and-by  both  boys  slept. 

Jack  alone  remained  awake  and  thought- 
ful. His  face  gave  token  of  great  physical 
suffering.  Once  he  lifted  the  cover  from 
the  basket,  and  looked  hungrily  and  long- 
ingly at  the  little  portion  of  food  that  re- 
mained. Then  he  replaced  the  lid,  and  set 
the  basket  back  resolutely  on  the  ledge. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  he  murmured.  "  I  mus'  na 
tak'  it  oot  o*  the  mou's  o'  Tom  Taylor's 
bairns." 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  153 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  motionless,  with 
his  chin  in  his  hands,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  sleeping  lads.  Then,  straightening  up, 
there  came  into  his  face  a  look  of  heroic 
resolution. 

"I'll  do  it!"  he  said,  aloud.  ."It'll  be 
better  for  us  a'." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  awakened  Tom, 
who  had  slept  for  some  hours,  and  who 
now  arose  and  began  again  his  monotonous 
walk  up  and  down  the  heading. 

After  a  while,  Jack  motioned  to  him  to 
come  and  sit  beside  him  on  the  bench. 

"  I  ha'  summat  to  say  to  ye,"  he  said. 
Then,  with  a  glance  at  the  sleeping  boy, 
"  Come  ye  up  the  airway  a  bit." 

The  two  walked  up  the  airway  a  short 
distance,  and  sat  down  on  a  broken  prop 
by  the  side  of  the  track. 

"  Tom,"  said  Jack,  after  a  moment  or  two 
of  silence,  "  it's  a-goin'  hard  wi'  us.  Mos' 
like  it's  near  two  days  sin'  the  fall,  an'  no 
soun'  o'  help  yet.  Na  doot  but  they're  a- 
workin',  but  it'll  tak'  lang  to  get  here  fra 
the  time  ye  hear  the  first  tappin'.  The 
three  o'  us  can't  live  that  lang;  mayhap 


154  THE   BLIND   BROTHER. 

two  can.  Ye  s'all  be  the  ones.  I  ha'  fixed 
on  that  fra  the  start.  That's  why  I  ha' 
ta'en  no  food." 

"An' we've  had  it  all!"  broke  in  Tom. 
"You  shouldn't  a-done  it.  The  three  of  us 
ought  to  a'  fared  alike  — 'cept,  maybe,  Ben- 
nie  ;  he  aint  so  strong,  an'  he  ought  to  be 
favored." 

"  Yes,  Tom,  the  weakes'  first.  That's 
richt ;  that's  why  I'm  a-givin'  my  chances  to 
you  lads.  An'  besides  that,  my  life  ain't 
worth  savin'  any  way,  alongside  o'  yours 
an'  Bennie's.  Ye  s'all  share  what's  i'  the 
basket  atween  ye.  Tain't  much,  but  it'll 
keep  ye  up  as  long's  the  air'll  support  ye. 
It's  a-gettin'  bad,  the  air  is.  D'ye  min'  the 
lomp,  how  dim  an'  lazy-like  it  burns?  A 
mon's  got  to  ha'  such  strength  as  food'll 
give  him  to  hold  out  lang  in  air  like  this." 

"  I  wish  you'd  'a'  eaten  with  us,"  inter- 
rupted Tom  again.  "  Tain't  right  to  let 
your  chances  go  that  way  on  account  of 
us." 

Paying  no  attention  to  this  protest,  Jack 
continued : 

"  But  I've  a  thing  on  ma  min',  Tom,  that 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  155 

I'd  feel  easier  aboot  an'  fitter  for  what's 
a-comin'  if  I  told  it.  It's  aboot  the  father, 
lad ;  it's  aboot  Tom  Taylor,  an'  how  he 
cam'  to  his  death.  Ye'll  no'  think  too  hard 
o'  me,  Tom  ?  It  wasna  the  fall  o'  top  coal 
that  killit  him — it  was  me!  Tom!  lad! 
Tom !  bear  wi'  me  a  minute !  Sit  ye  an' 
bear  wi'  me  ;  it'll  no'  be  for  lang." 

The  boy  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  stood 
staring  at  the  man  in  terrified  amazement. 
Then  Jack  rose,  in  his  turn,  and  hurried  on 
with  his  story : 

"  It  wasna  by  intent,  Tom.  We  were  the 
best  o'  frien's ;  I  was  his  butty.  We  had 
a  chamber  thegither  that  time  i'  the  Car- 
bondale  mine.  But  one  day  we  quarrelled, 
—  I've  no  call  to  say  what  aboot,  —  we 
quarrelled  there  in  the  chamber,  an'  ugly 
words  passed,  an'  there  cam'  a  moment 
when  one  o'  us  struck  the  ither. 

"  Then  the  fight  began  ;  han'  to  han' ; 
both  lamps  oot ;  a'  in  the  dark ;  oh,  it  was 
tarrible  !  tarrible  !  —  doon  on  the  floor  o' 
the  mine,  crashin'  up  against  the  ragged 
pillars,  strugglin'  an'  strainin'  like  mad  — 
an'  a'  of  a  sudden,  I  heard  a  sharp  cry,  an'  I 


156  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

felt  him  a-slippin'  oot  o'  ma  arms  an' 
doon  to  ma  feet,  an'  he  lay  there  an'  was 
still. 

"  I  foun'  ma  lamp  an'  lighted  it,  an' 
when  I  lookit  at  him,  he  was  dead. 

"  I  was  a  coward.  I  was  afraid  to  say 
we'd  been  a-fightin' ;  I  was  afraid  they'd 
say  I  murdered  him.  So  I  blastit  doon  a 
bit  o'  roof,  an'  fixed  it  like  the  top  coal'd 
killit  him ;  an'  I  wasna  suspeckit.  But  I 
could  na  stay  there ;  an'  I  wandered  west, 
an'  I  wandered  east,  an'  I  took  to  drink,  an' 
to  evil  deeds,  an'  at  last  I  cam'  back, 
an'  I  went  in  wi'  the  Molly  Maguires  — 
Scotchman  as  I  was  —  an'  I  done  desper- 
ate work  for  'em ;  work  that  I  oughtn't  to 
be  alive  to-night  to  speak  aboot  —  but  I 
ha'  suffered  ;  O  lad,  I  ha'  suffered ! 

"  Mony  an'  mony's  the  nicht,  as  often 
as  I  ha'  slept  an'  dreamed,  that  I  'ia*  fought 
over  that  fight  i'  the  dark,  an'  felt  that  body 
a-slip,  slippin'  oot  o'  ma  grasp.  Oh,  it's 
been  tarrible,  tarrible  !  " 

Jack  dropped  into  his  seat  again  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

The  man's  apparent  mental  agony  melted 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  157 

Tom's  heart,  and  he  sat  down  beside  him 
and  laid  a  comforting  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  I  have  naught  against  you,"  he  said, 
and  repeated,  "  I  have  naught  against  you." 

After  a  while  Jack  looked  up. 

"  I  believe  ye,  lad,"  he  said,  "  an'  some- 
how I  feel  easier  for  the  tellin'.  But  ye 
mus'  na  tell  the  rnither  aboot  it,  Tom  ;  I've 
a  reason  for  that.  I've  a  bit  o'  money 
here,  that  I've  saved  along  through  the 
years,  an'  I've  neither  kith  nor  kin  that's 
near  enow  to  leave  it  wi'  —  an'  I  want  she 
should  have  it;  an'  if  she  knew  she  might 
not  tak'  it." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew,  from  an  inner 
pocket,  a  folded  and  wrapped  package, 
and  gave  it  to  Tom. 

"It's  a  matter  o'  a  thousan'  dollars,"  he 
continued,  "  an'  I'd  like  —  I'd  like  if  a  part 
o'  it  co'ulcj  be  used  for  gettin'  sight  for  the 
blin'  lad,  gin  he  lives  to  get  oot.  I  told 
him,  one  day,  that  he  should  have  his 
sight,  if  money'd  buy  it  —  an'  I  want  to 
keep  ma  ward." 

Tom  took  the  package,  too  much  amazed, 
and  too  deeply  moved  to  speak. 


158  THE   BLIND  BROTHER. 

The  grinding  noise  of  settling  rock  came 
up  from  the  region  of  the  fall,  and  then, 
for  many  minutes,  the  silence  was  unbroken. 

After  a  while,  Jack  said,  "  Put  the  money 
where  they'll  find  it  on  ye,  gin  ye  —  gin  ye 
don't  get  oot." 

Then  he  rose  to  his  feet  again. 

"You're  not  goin'  to  leave  us?"  said 
Tom. 

"  Yes,  lad,  I  mus'  go.  It's  the  way  wi' 
hunger,  sometimes,  to  mak'  a  man  crazy 
till  he's  not  knowin'  what  he  does.  Ye 
s'all  no  ha'  that  to  fear  fra  me.  Tom," 
grasping  the  boy,  suddenly,  by  both  hands, 
"  don't  come  up  into  the  new  chambers, 
Tom  ;  promise  me  !  " 

Tom  promised,  and  Jack  added,  "  May- 
hap I  s'all  not  see  ye  again  —  good-by  — 
keep  up  heart ;  that's  the  gret  thing  for 
both  o'  ye  —  keep  up  heart,  an'  never  let 
hope  go." 

Then  he  loosed  the  boy's  hands,  picked 
up  his  lamp,  and,  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 
he  turned  away.  He  passed  down  the 
airway,  and  out  by  the  entrance  where 
blind  Bennie  lay,  still  sleeping,  and  stopped 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  159 

and  looked  tenderly  clown  upon  him,  as 
men  look,  for  the  last  time  in  life,  on  those 
whom  they  love. 

He  bent  over,  holding  his  heavy  beard 
back  against  his  breast,  and  touched  the 
tangled  hair  on  the  child's  forehead  with 
his  lips  ;  and  then,  weak,  staggering,  with 
the  shadow  of  his  fate  upon  him,  he  passed 
out  on  the  heading,  and  up  into  the  new 
chambers,  where  the  poisoned  air  was 
heavy  with  the  deadly  gas,  and  the  lamp- 
flame  scarcely  left  the  wick ;  and  neither 
Tom  Taylor  nor  his  blind  brother  ever 
saw  Jack  Rennie  again,  in  life  or  in  death. 

When  Tom  went  back  to  the  waiting- 
place,  Bennie  awoke. 

"  I  had  such  a  nice  dream,  Tom,"  he 
said.  "  I  thought  I  was  a-lyin'  in  the  little 
bed,  at  home,  in  the  early  mornin' ;  an'  it 
was  summer,  an'  I  could  hear  the  birds 
a-singin'  in  the  poplar  tree  outside ;  an' 
then  Mommie  she  come  up  by  the  bed  an' 
kissed  me ;  an'  then  I  thought,  all  of  a 
sudden,  I  could  see.  O  Tom,  it  was 
lovely !  I  could  see  Mommie  a-stannin' 
there,  an'  I  could  see  the  sunlight  a-comin' 


I6O  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

in  at  the  window,  an'  a-shinin'  on  the  floor ; 
an'  I  jumped  up  an'  looked  out,  an'  it  was 
all  just  like — just  like  heaven." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Bennie 
added,  "Tom,  do  you  s'pose  if  I  should 
die  now  an'  go  to  heaven,  I  could  see  up 
there  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so,"  answered  Tom  ;  "  but  you 
aint  goin'  to  die  ;  we're  goin'  to  get  out  — 
both  of  us." 

But  Bennie  was  still  thinking  of  the 
heavenly  vision. 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  care,  Tom  ;  I'd  just 
as  lieve  die  —  if  only  Mommie  could  be 
with  me." 

Again  Tom  spoke,  in  earnest,  cheerful 
tones,  of  the  probability  of  rescue ;  and 
discussed  the  subject  long,  and  stimulated 
his  own  heart,  as  well  as  Bennie's,  with 
renewed  hope. 

By-and-by  the  imperious  demands  of 
hunger  compelled  a  resort  to  the  remnant 
of  food.  Tom  explained  that  Jack  had 
gone  away,  to  be  by  himself  a  while,  and 
wanted  them  to  eat  what  there  was  in 
the  basket.  Bennie  did  not  question  the 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  163 

• 

statement.  So  the  last  of  the  food  was 
eaten. 

After  this  there  was  a  long  period  of 
quiet  waiting,  and  listening  for  sounds  of 
rescue,  and,  finally,  both  boys  lay  down 
again  and  slept. 

Hours  passed  by  with  no  sound  save 
the  labored  breathing  of  .  the  sleepers. 
Then  Tom  awoke,  with  a  prickling  sensa- 
tion over  his  entire  body,  and  a  strange 
heaviness  of  the  head  and  weakness  of  the 
limbs  ;  but  Bennie  slept  on. 

"  He  might  as  well  sleep,"  said  Tom,  to 
himself,  "  it'll  make  the  time  shorter  for 
him."  . 

But  by  and  by  Bennie  awoke,  and  said 
that  he  felt  very  sick,  and  that  his  head  was 
hurting  him. 

He  feel  asleep  again  soon,  however, 
and  it  was  not  until  some  hours  later  that 
he  awoke,  with  a  start,  and  asked  for 
water.  After  that,  though  oppressed  with 
drowsiness,  he  slept  only  at  intervals,  and 
complained  constantly  of  his  head. 

Tom  cared  for  him  and  comforted  him, 
putting  his  own  sufferings  out  of  sight ; 


164  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

sleeping  a  little,  straining  his  ears  for  a 
sound  of  rescue. 

The  hours  crept  on,  and  the  flame  of 
the  little  lamp  burned  round  and  dim,  and 
the  deadly  gas  grew  thicker  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

Once,  after  a  longer  period  of  quiet 
than  usual,  there  came  a  whisper  from 
Bennie. 

"  Tom ! " 

"  What  is  it,  Bennie  ?  " 

"  Where  did  Jack  go  ?  " 

"  Up  in  the  new  chambers." 

"  How  long's  he  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  day  or  two,  I  guess." 

"  Hark,  Tom,  is  that  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  hear  any  thing,  Bennie." 

"  Listen  !  it's  a  kind  o'  tappin/  tappin'  — 
don't  you  hear  it  ?  " 

But  Tom's  heart  was  beating  so  wildly 
that  he  could  hear  no  lesser  noise. 

"  I  don't  hear  it  any  more,"  said  Bennie. 

But  both  boys  lay  awake  now  and  lis- 
tened ;  and  by  and  by  Bennie  spoke  again, 
"  There  it  is  ;  don't  you  hear  it,  Tom  ? " 

This   time   Tom   did    hear  it;  just  the 


777^  BLIND   BROTHER.  1 65 

faintest  tap,  tap,  sounding,  almost,"  as 
though  it  were  miles  away. 

There  was  a  little  crowbar  there,  that 
had  been  brought  down  from  the  new 
chambers.  Tom  caught  it  up,  and  hurried 
into  the  heading,  and  beat,  half  a  dozen 
times,  on  the  wall  there,  and  then,  drop- 
ping the  bar  from  sheer  exhaustion,  he 
lay  down  beside  it  and  listened. 

It  was  hard  to  tell  if  they  heard  his 
strokes,  though  he  repeated  them  again 
and  again,  as  his  strength  would  permit. 

But  the  faint  tapping  ceased  only  at  in- 
tervals, and,  once  in  a  long  while,  a  scarcely 
perceptible  thud  could  be  heard. 

Tom  crept  back  to  Bennie,  and  tried  to 
speak  cheeringly,  as  they  lay  and  listened. 

But  the  blind  boy's  limbs  had  grown 
numb,  and  his  head  very  heavy  and  painful. 
His  utterance,  too,  had  become  thick  and 
uncertain,  and  at  times  he  seemed  to  be 
wandering  in  his  mind.  Once  he  started  up, 
crying  out  that  the  roof  was  falling  on  him. 

Hours  passed.  Echoing  through  the 
fall,  the  sound  of  pick  and  crowbar  came, 
with  unmistakable  earnestness, 


1 66  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

Tom  had  tapped  many  times  on  the  wall, 
and  was  sure  he  had  been  heard,  for  the 
answering  raps  had  reached  his  ears  dis- 
tinctly. 

But  they  were  so  long  coming  ;  so  long! 
Yet  Tom  nursed  his  hope,  and  fought  off 
the  drowsiness  that  oppressed  him,  and 
tried  to  care  for  Bennie. 

The  blind  boy  had  got  beyond  caring  for 
himself.  He  no  longer  heard  the  sounds 
of  rescue.  Once  he  turned  partly  on  his 
side. 

"Yes,  Mommie,"  he  whispered,  "yes,  I 
see  it;  ain't  it  pretty!"  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "O  Mommie,  how  beautiful  —  how 
beautiful  —  it  is  —  to  see  !  " 

Tap,  tap,  thud,  came  the  sounds  of  res- 
cue through  the  rock  and  coal. 

Tap,  tap,  thud ;  but,  oh,  how  the  moments 
lagged ;  how  the  deadly  gas  increased ;  how 
the  sharp  teeth  of  hunger  gnawed ;  how 
feebly  burned  the  flame  of  the  little  lamp ; 
how  narrow  grew  the  issue  between  life 
and  death ! 

A  time  had  come  when  Bennie  could  be 
no  longer  roused  to  consciousness,  when 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  167 

the  brain  itself  had  grown  torpid,  and  the 
tongue  refused  to  act. 

Tap!  tap!  louder  and  louder  ;  they  were 
coming  near,  men's  voices  could  be  heard  ; 
thud !  thud !  the  prison-wall  began  to 
tremble  with  the  heavy  blows ;  but  the 
hours  went  slipping  by  into  the  darkness, 
and,  over  the  rude  couch,  whereon  the 
blind  boy  lay,  the  angel  of  death  hung 
motionless,  with  pinions  poised  for  flight. 

"  O  God  !  "  prayed  Tom;  "  O  dear  God, 
let  Bennie  live  until  they  come! " 


1 68  THE  BLIND  BROTHER, 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

OUT   OF   DARKNESS. 

IT  was  with  a  light  heart  that  the  Widow 
Taylor  kissed  her  two  boys  good-by  that 
morning  in  December,  and  watched  them 
as  they  disappeared  into  the  fading  dark- 
ness. When  they  were  gone  she  went 
about  her  household  duties  with  a  song  on 
her  lips.  She  did  not  often  sing  when  she 
was  alone ;  but  this  was  such  a  pretty  little 
song  of  a  mother  and  her  boy,  that  on  this 
happy  winter  morning  she  could  not  choose 
but  sing  it. 

Hers  were  such  noble  boys,  such  bright, 
brave  boys !  They  had  given  her  heart 
and  life  to  begin  the  struggle  for  bread,  on 
that  awful  day  when  she  found  herself 
homeless,  moneyless,  among  strangers  in 
a  strange  land ;  when,  in  answer  to  her 
eager  question  for  her  husband,  she  had 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  169 

been  told  that  he  had  met  an  untimely 
death,  and  was  already  lying  in  his  grave. 

But,  as  she  had  toiled  and  trusted,  her 
sons  had  grown,  both  in  stature  and  in 
grace,  till  they  had  become,  indeed,  her 
crown  of  rejoicing. 

One  thing  yet  she  looked  forward  to 
with  eager  hope,  and  that  was  the  time 
when  her  blind  boy  might  have  the  benefit 
of  skilful  treatment  for  his  eyes,  with  the 
possibility  of  sight.  It  might  take  years 
of  saving  yet,  but  every  day  that  they 
could  all  work  made  the  time  of  waiting 
one  day  less.  So  she  was  hardly  less 
rejoiced  at  the  renewal  of  their  tasks  than 
were  the  boys  themselves. 

It  was  a  bright  day,  and  warm,  too,  for 
December;  she  thought  of  it  afterward, 
how  fair  the  day  was.  But  it  was  lonely 
without  her  boys.  It  had  been  weeks 
since  they  had  been  away  from  her  all  day 
so ;  and,  long  before  the  sun  went  down, 
she  began  to  wish  for  their  coming. 

She  made  supper  early,  and  set  out  a 
few  treasured  dainties  on  the  table,  in 
honor  of  the  first  day's  work.  Then,  while 


I7O  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

the  shadows  grew  indistinct,  and  the  dark- 
ness settled  down  upon  the  earth,  she  sat 
by  the  window  and  saw  the  stars  come  out, 
and  waited  for  her  boys. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  jar,  the  house 
rocked  slightly,  the  windows  rattled,  and  a 
dish  on  the  pantry-shelf  fell  to  the  floor 
and  was  broken. 

The  Widow  Taylor  started  to  her  feet, 
and  stood,  for  a  moment,  wondering  what  it 
could  mean.  Then  she  opened  the  door  of 
her  cottage  and  looked  out. 

Other  women  were  standing  by  their 
gates,  and  men  were  hurrying  past  her  in 
the  darkness. 

"  What's  happened  ?  "  she  called  out,  to 
a  neighbor. 

"A  fall,"  came  back  the  answer;  "it 
must  'a'  been  a  fall." 

"  Where  ? " 

She  asked  the  question  with  a  dreadful 
apprehension  settling  down  upon  her. 

"  We  canna  tell ;  but  mos'  like  it's  i'  the 
Dryden  Slope.  They're  a  -  runnin'  that 
way." 

The  widow  shrank  back  into  her  house, 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  I/I 

and  sank,  weakly,  into  a  chair.  For  the 
moment  she  was  overcome ;  but  only  for 
the  moment.  Hope  came  to  her  rescue. 
There  were  a  hundred  chances  to  one  that 
her  boys  were  not  in  the  mine,  even  if  the 
fall  had  been  there  ;  indeed,  it  was  already 
time  for  them  to  be  at  home. 

She  waited,  for  a  few  moments,  in  anx- 
ious indecision ;  then,  throwing"  a  shawl 
about  her  head  and  shoulders,  she  went 
out  into  the  night. 

She  knew  very  well  the  route  by  which 
her  boys  came  from  their  work,  and  she 
determined  to  go  until  she  should  meet 
them.  There  were  many  people  hurrying 
toward  the  slope,  but  only  one  man  com- 
ing from  it,  and  he  was  running  for  a  doc- 
tor, and  had  no  time  to  talk. 

Increasing  anxiety  hastened  the  widow's 
steps.  She  could  not  go  fast  enough. 
Even  as  it  was,  people  jostled  by  her  in 
the  darkness,  and  she  ran  to  keep  up  with 
them. 

At  last,  the  mile  that  lay  between  her 
cottage  and  the  mine  was  almost  covered. 
Up  on  the  hillside,  at  the  mouth  of  the 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 


slope,  she  saw  the  twinkling  and  glancing 
of  the  lights  of  many  lamps.  The  crowds 
had  grown  more  dense.  Other  women  were 
pushing  past  her,  moaning  and  lamenting. 

She  climbed  the  hill,  and  through  the 
throng,  to  where  a  heavy  rope  had  been 
stretched  about  the  mouth  of  the  slope,  as 
a  barrier  to  hold  back  the  pressing  crowd  ; 
and  clutching  the  rope  with  both  hands, 
she  stood  there  and  waited  and  watched. 

She  was  where  she  could  see  into  the 
opening  of  the  mine,  and  where  she  could 
see  all  who  came  out. 

Some  cars  were  lowered  from  the  slope- 
house  to  the  mouth,  and  a  dozen  men, 
with  picks  and  crowbars,  climbed  into 
them  and  went  speeding  down  into  the 
blackness.  It  was  another  rescuing  party. 

Across  the  open  space  before  her,  the 
widow  saw  Sandy  McCulloch  coming,  and 
cried  out  to  him,  "  Sandy  !  " 

He  stopped  for  an  instant,  then,  recog- 
nizing the  woman's  voice,  he  came  up  to 
her,  and  laid  his  hands  on  hers,  and,  before 
she  could  speak  again,  he  said,  "  Ye're 
lookin'  for  the  lads.  They're  no'  come  pot 
yet." 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  173 

"  Sandy  —  are  they  safe  ?  " 

"We  canna  tell.  There  was  mony  'at 
got  this  side  o'  the  fall  afoor  it  corned ;  an' 
some  'at  got  catched  in  it ;  an'  mos'  like 
there  be  some  'at's  beyon'  it." 

A  car  came  up  the  slope,  and  the  body 
of  a  man  was  lifted  out,  placed  on  a  rude 
stretcher,  and  carried  by. 

Sandy  moved,  awkwardly,  to  get  between 
the  dread  sight  and  the  woman's  eyes. 
But  she  looked  at  it  only  for  a  moment. 
It  was  a  man  ;  and  those  she  sought  were 
not  men,  but  boys. 

"  They're  a-workin',"  continued  Sandy, 
"  they're  a-workin'  like  tigers  to  get  to  'em, 
an'  we're  a-hopin' ;  that's  a'  we  can  do  — 
work  an'  hope." 

The  man  hurried  away  and  left  her,  still 
standing  there,  to  watch  the  car  that  came 
up  from  the  blackness,  at  lengthening  in- 
tervals, with  its  dreadful  load,  and  to  hear 
the  shrill  cry  from  some  heart-broken  wife 
and  mother,  as  she  recognized  the  victim. 
But  they  were  always  men  who  were 
brought  out,  not  boys. 

After  a  time,  a  party  of  workers  came 


1/4  TfIE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

up,  exhausted,  and  others  went  down  in 
their  places.  The  men  were  surrounded 
with  eager  questioners,  but  they  had  little 
to  say.  The  work  of  rescue  was  progress- 
ing, that  was  all. 

By  and  by  Sandy  came  back. 

"  Ye  should  no  stay  here,  Mistress  Tay- 
lor," he  said.  "  When  the  lads  be  found  ye 
s'all  know  it ;  I'll  bring  'em  to  ye  mysel'. 
Mos'  like  they're  back  o'  the  fall,  an'  it'll 
tak'  time  to  get  'em  —  all  nicht  maybe, 
maybe  longer ;  but  when  they're  found,  ye 
s'all  not  be  long  knowin'  it." 

"O  Sandy!  ye'll  spare  naught;  ye'll 
spare  naught  for  'em  ?  " 

"  We'll  spare  naught,"  he  said. 

He  had  started  with  her  towards  home, 
helping  her  along  until  the  bend  in  the 
road  disclosed  the  light  in  her  cottage  win- 
dow ;  and  then,  bidding  her  to  be  hopeful, 
and  of  strong  heart,  he  left  her,  and  hur- 
ried back  to  aid  in  the  work  of  rescue. 

The  outer  line  of  the  fall,  and  the  open- 
ings into  it,  had  already  been  searched ; 
and  all  the  missing  had  been  accounted  for 
—  some  living,  some  dead,  and  some  to 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  175 

whom  death  would  have  been  a  happy  re- 
lief— all  the  missing,  save  Tom  Taylor  and 
his  blind  brother. 

It  was  well  known  that  their  route  to  the 
foot  of  the  slope  lay  by  the  new  north 
heading ;  and,  along  this  passage,  the  en- 
tire work  of  rescue  was  now  concentrated. 
The  boys  would  be  found,  either  buried 
under  the  fall,  or  imprisoned  back  of  it. 

At  some  points  in  the  heading,  the  rescu- 
ing parties  found  the  rock  and  coal  wedged 
in  so  solidly  that  the  opening  of  a  few  feet 
was  the  work  of  an  hour ;  again,  the  huge 
blocks  and  slabs  were  piled  up,  irregularly; 
and,  again,  there  would  be  short  distances 
that  were  wholly  clear. 

But  no  matter  what  these  miners  met, 
their  work  never  for  one  moment  ceased 
nor  lagged.  They  said  little  ;  men  do  not 
talk  much  under  a  pressure  like  that ;  but 
every  muscle  was  tense,  every  sense  on  the 
alert ;  they  were  at  the  supreme  height  of 
physical  effort. 

Such  labor  was  possible  only  for  a  few 
hours  at  a  time,  but  the  tools  scarcely 
ceased  in  their  motion,  so  quickly  were 


176  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

they  caught  up  by  fresh  hands,  from  the 
exhausted  ones  that  dropped  them. 

Men  do  not  work  like  that  for  money. 
No  riches  of  earth  could  charge  nerve  and 
muscle  with  such  energetic  fire.  It  was, 
indeed,  a  labor  of  love. 

There  was  not  a  workman  in  Dryden 
Slope  but  would  have  worn  his  fingers  to 
the  bone  to  save  these  lads,  or  their  wid- 
owed mother,  from  one  hour  of  suffering. 
The  frank,  manly  character  of  Tom,  and 
the  pathetic  simplicity  of  his  blind  brother, 
had  made  both  boys  the  favorites  of  the 
mine.  And  beneath  the  grimy  clothes  of 
these  rugged  miners,  beat  hearts  as  warm 
and  resolute  as  ever  moved  the  noblest  of 
earth's  heroes  to  generous  deeds  of  daring. 

When  the  Widow  Taylor  reached  home 
it  was  almost  midnight.  She  set  away  the 
supper-dishes  from  the  table,  and,  in  place 
of  them,  she  put  some  of  her  simple  house- 
hold remedies.  She  prepared  bandages 
and  lint,  and  made  every  thing  ready  for 
the  restoration  and  comfort  of  the  sufferers 
when  they  should  arrive. 

She  expected  that  they  would  be  weak, 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  177 

wounded,  too,  perhaps ;  but  she  had  not 
yet  thought  of  them  as  dead. 

Then  she  lay  down  upon  her  bed  and 
tried  to  sleep  ;  but  at  every  noise  she  wak- 
ened ;  at  every  passing  foot-fall  she  started 
to  her  feet. 

At  daybreak  a  miner  stopped,  with  black- 
ened face  and  bleeding  hands,  to  tell  her 
that  the  work  of  rescue  was  going  bravely 
on.  He  had,  himself,  just  come  from  the 
face  of  the  new  opening,  he  said ;  and 
would  go  back  again,  to  work,  after  he  had 
taken  a  little  food  and  a  little  sleep. 

The  morning  went  by  ;  noon  passed,  and 
still  no  other  tidings.  The  monotony  of 
waiting  became  unbearable  at  last,  and  the 
stricken  woman  started  on  another  journey 
to  the  mine. 

When  she  came  near  to  the  mouth  of 
the  slope,  they  made  way  for  her  in  silent 
sympathy.  A  trip  of  cars  came  out  soon 
after  her  arrival,  and  a  half-dozen  miners 
lifted  themselves  wearily  to  the  ground. 
The  crowd  pressed  forward  with  eager 
questions,  but  the  tired  workers  only  shook 
their  heads.  They  feared,  they  said,  that 


1/8  THE   BLIND   BROTHER. 

not  half  the  distance  through  the  fall  had 
yet  been  accomplished. 

But  one  of  them,  a  brawny,  great-hearted 
Irishman,  came  over  to  where  the  Widow 
Taylor  stood,  white-faced  and  eager-eyed, 
and  said,  "  It  won't  be  long  now,  ma'am, 
till  we'll  be  afther  rachin'  'em.  We're  a- 
hopin'  every  blissed  hour  to  break  through 
to  where  the  purty  lads  is  a-sthayin'." 

She  started  to  ask  some  question,  but 
he  interrupted  her : 

"Oh,  av  coorse !  av  coorse  !  It's  alive 
they  are,  sure  ;  an'  hearty  ;  a  bit  hungry 
like,  maybe,  an'  no  wondher ;  but  safe, 
ma'am,  as  safe  as  av  ye  had  the  both  o' 
thim  in  your  own  house,  an'  the  dure  locked 
behind  yez." 

"An'  do  ye  find  no  signs?"  she  asked. 
"  Do  ye  hear  no  sounds  ?  " 

"  Ah,  now ! "  evading  the  question ;  "  niver 
ye  fear.  Ye'll  see  both  childer  a-laughin' 
in  your  face  or  ever  the  mornin'  dawns 
again,  or  Larry  Flannigan's  word's  no 
betther  than  a  lie." 

She  turned  away  and  went  home  again, 
and  the  long  night  passed,  and  the  morning 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  179 

dawned,  and  Larry  Flannigan's  word  was, 
indeed,  no  better  than  a  lie. 

It  was  only  the  same  old  story :  "  They're 
a-workin'.  It  can't  be  long  now."  . 

But  among  themselves  the  miners  said 
that  had  the  lacls  escaped  the  fall,  they 
would  perish  from  hunger  and  foul  air  long 
before  the  way  could  be  opened  into  their 
prison.  To  bring  their  lifeless  bodies  out 
for  decent  burial  was  all  that  could  be 
hoped. 

The  morning  of  the  fourth  day  dawned, 
beautiful  and  sunny.  It  was  the  holy 
Christmas  Day  ;  the  clay  on  which  the  star- 
led  shepherds  found  the  Christ-child  in  the 
hallowed  manger  in  the  town  of  Bethlehem. 
White  and  pure  upon  the  earth,  in  the 
winter  sunlight,  rested  a  covering  of  newly 
fallen  snow  ;  and,  pale-faced  and  hollow- 
eyed,  the  mother  of  the  two  imprisoned 
boys  looked  out  upon  it  from  the  window 
of  her  desolated  home. 

The  sympathizing  neighbors  who  had 
kept  her  company  for  the  night  had  gone 
for  a  little  while,  and  she  was  alone. 

She  knew  that  there  was  no  hope. 


ISO  THE  BLIND   BROTHER. 

They  had  thought  it  a'  kindness  to  tell 
her  so  at  last,  and  she  had  thanked  them  for 
not  keeping  the  bitter  truth  hid  from  her. 

She  did  not  ask  any  more  that  she  might 
see  her  two  boys  in  life  ;  she  only  prayed 
now  that  their  dear  bodies  might  be  brought 
to  her  unmangled,  to  be  robed  for  Christian 
burial. 

To  this  end  she  began  now  to  make  all 
things  ready.  She  put  in  order  the  little 
best  room  ;  she  laid  out  the  clean,  new 
clothing,  and  the  spotless  sheets  ;  she  even 
took  from  her  worn  purse  the  four  small 
coins  to  place  upon  the  white,  closed  lids. 

In  the  locked  cupboard,  where  the  boys 
should  not  see  them  till  the  time  came, 
she  found  the  Christmas  presents  she  had 
thought  to  give  to  them  this  day. 

Not  much,  indeed.  A  few  cheap  toys, 
some  sweetmeats  purchased  secretly,  a  book 
or  two,  and,  last  of  all,  some  little  gifts  that 
her  own  weary,  loving  hands  had  wrought 
in  the  long  hours  after  the  children  were 
asleep. 

And  now  the  Christmas  dawn  had  come  ; 
but  the  children  — 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  183 

She  had  not  wept  before,  not  since  the 
first  jar  from  the  fall  had  rocked  her  cottage ; 
but  now,  with  the  sight  of  these  poor,  simple 
Christmas  gifts,  there  came  some  softening 
influence  that  moved  her  heart,  and  brought 
the  swift  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  she  sat 
down  in  her  accustomed  chair  and  wept  — 
wept  long  and  piteously,  indeed,  but  in  the 
weeping  found  relief. 

She  was  aroused  by  a  knock  at  the  door. 
The  latch  was  lifted,  the  door  pushed  open, 
and  Sandy  McCulloch  stumbled  in.  He 
was  out  of  breath,  his  eyes  were  wide  with 
excitement,  and  down  each  side  of  his  grimy 
face  was  a  furrow  where  the  tears  had  run. 

The  widow  started  to  her  feet. 

"  Sandy ! " 

A  wild  hope  had  come  into  her  heart. 

(i  They're  found  !  "  he  forced  out  breath 
enough  to  say. 

"  O  Sandy,  alive  or  —  or"  — 

She  could  not  finish  the  question  ;  the 
room  seemed  whirling  round  her ;  she 
grasped  at  the  chair  for  support. 

"  Alive  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Alive,  an'  a- 
goin'  to  live  !  " 


184  THE   BLIXD  BROTHER. 

He  started  forward,  and  caught  the  woman 
as  she  fell.  The  shock  of  joy  had  been  too 
sudden  and  too  great,  and  for  a  time  nature 
gave  way  before  it. 

But  it  was  indeed  true.  When  the  men, 
working  at  the  face  of  the  tunnel,  caught 
the  sound  of  responsive  tappings,  they 
labored  with  redoubled  energy,  if  such  a 
thing  could  be,  and,  after  another  night  of 
most  gigantic  effort,  they  broke  through 
into  the  prison-house,  to  find  both  boys 
unconscious  indeed,  but  alive,  alive. 

Medical  aid  was  at  hand,  and  though  for 
a  time  the  spirit  of  Bennie  seemed  fain  to 
leave  his  wasted  body,  it  took  a  firmer  hold 
at  last,  and  it  was  known  that  he  would 
live. 

In  triumphant  procession,  they  bore  the 
rescued,  still  unconscious,  boys  in  tender 
haste  to  their  mother's  house ;  and  those 
who  ran  before  shouted,  "  Found!  found  !  " 
and  those  who  followed  after  cried,  "  Alive  ! 
alive ! " 

How  the  women  kissed  their  own  chil- 
dren and  wept,  as  they  saw  the  lads  borne 
by  !  How  the  men  grasped  one  another's 


THE  BLIND   BROTHER.  187 

hands,  and  tried  to  speak  without  a  tremor 
in  the  voice  —  and  failed.  And  how  wild 
the  whole  town  went  over  the  gallant  res- 
cue of  the  widow's  sons ! 

But  Jack  Rennie,  poor  Jack,  brave,  mis- 
guided Jack !  They  found  his  body  later 
on,  and  gave  it  tender  burial.  But  it  was 
only  when  the  lips  of  Tom  and  Bennie 
were  unsealed,  with  growing  strength,  that 
others  knew  how  this  man's  heroic  sacrifice 
had  made  it  possible  for  these  two  boys  to 
live. 

Under  the  most  watchful  and  tender  care 
of  his  mother,  Tom  soon  recovered  his 
usual  health.  But  for  Bennie  the  shock 
had  been  more  severe.  He  gained  strength 
very  slowly,  indeed.  He  could  not  free  his 
mind  from  dreadful  memories.  Many  a 
winter  night  he  started  from  his  sleep, 
awakened  by  dreams  of  falling  mines. 

It  was  not  until  the  warm,  south  winds 
of  April  crept  up  the  valley  of  Wyoming, 
that  he  could  leave  his  easy-chair  without 
a  hand  to  help  him;  and  not  until  all  the 
sweet  roses  of  June  were  in  blossom  that 
he  walked  abroad  in  the  sunlight  as  before. 


1 88  THE   BLIND  BROTHER. 

But  then  —  oh,  then  what  happened  ? 
Only  this :  that  Jack  Rennie's  gift  was  put 
to  the  use  he  had  bespoken  for*  it ;  that 
skilled  hands  in  the  great  city  gave  proper 
treatment  to  the  blind  boy's  eyes  through 
many  weeks,  and  then  —  he  saw  !  Only 
this  ;  but  it  was  life  to  him,  —  new,  sweet, 
joyous  life. 

One  day  he  stepped  upon  the  train,  with 
sight  restored,  to  ride  back  to  his  valley 
home.  Wide-eyed  he  was  ;  exuberant  with 
hope  and  fancy,  seeing  all  things,  talking 
to  those  about  -him,  asking  many  ques- 
tions. 

The  full  and  perfect  beauty  of  late  sum- 
mer rested  on  the  land.  The  fields  were 
never  more  luxuriantly  green  and  golden, 
nor  the  trees  more  richly  clothed  with 
verdure.  The  first  faint  breath  of  coming 
autumn  had  touched  the  landscape  here 
and  there  with  spots  of  glowing  color,  and 
the  red  and  yellow  fruit  hung  temptingly 
among  the  leaves  of  all  the  orchard  trees. 

The  waters  of  the  river,  up  whose  wind- 
ing course  the  train  ran  on  and  on,  were 
sparkling  in  the  sunlight  with  a  beauty 


THE  BLIND  BROTHER.  189 

that,  in  this  boy's  eyes,  was  little  less  than 
magical. 

And  the  hills  ;  how  high  the  hills  were  ! 
Bennie  said  he  never  dreamed  the  hills 
could  be  so  high. 

"  Beautiful ! "  he  said,  again  and  again, 
as  the  ever  changing  landscapes  formed 
and  faded  in  his  sight ;  "  beautiful !  beau- 
tiful !  " 

Before  the  train  reached  Wilkesbarre  the 
summer  evening  had  fallen,  and  from  that 
city,  up  the  valley  of  Wyoming,  Bennie 
saw  from  the  car-window  only  the  twin- 
kling of  many  lights. 

Tom  was  at  the  station  to  meet  him. 
Dear,  brave  Tom,  how  his  heart  swelled 
with  pride,  as,  by  some  unaccountable  in- 
stinct, Bennie  came  to  him,  and  called 
him  by  name,  and  put  his  arms  around 
his  neck. 

Many  were  there  to  see  the  once  blind 
boy,  and  give  him  welcome  home.  And 
as  they  grasped  his  hand,  and  marked  his 
happiness,  some  laughed  for  joy,  and  others, 
—  for  the  same  reason  indeed,  —  others 
wept. 


190  THE  BLIND  BROTHER. 

Then  they  started  on  the  long  home 
walk,  Tom  and  Bennie,  hand  in  hand  to- 
gether, as  they  used  to  go  hand  in  hand, 
to  find  and  greet  the  mother. 

She  was  waiting  for  them  ;  sitting  by  the 
window  in  her  chair,  as  she  had  sat  that 
dreadful  winter  night ;  but  there  came  now 
no  sudden  jar  to  send  a  pallor  to  her  face  ; 
she  heard,  instead,  the  light  footsteps  of 
her  two  boys  on  the  walk,  and  their  voices 
at  the  door;  and  then  —  why,  then,  she 
had  Bennie  in  her  arms,  and  he  was  say- 
ing —  strange  that  they  should  be  the  very 
words  that  passed  his  lips  that  awful  hour 
when  death  hung  over  him  —  he  was  say- 
ing, "  O  Mommie  !  how  beautiful  —  how 
beautiful  —  it  is  —  to  see !  " 


DICK,   THE    DOOR-BOY. 


DICK,    THE     DOOR-BOY. 


No.  6  Shaft  in  the  Lackawanna  coal- 
field in  Pennsylvania  is  owned  by  a  great 
corporation.  The  shaft  is  three  hundred 
and  ten  feet  from  top  to  bottom. 

From  the  foot  of  the  shaft,  northerly, 
runs  a  long,  low,  narrow  gallery,  cut  through 
the  solid  coal,  known  as  the  north  head- 
ing, and  from  the  foot  of  the  shaft,  south- 
erly, runs  a  similar  gallery  known  as  the 
south  heading,  and  up  to  the  east  from 
this  main  gangway,  the  ten-feet  vein  of 
anthracite  is  honeycombed  with  minor 
passages. 

Away  up,  in  .a  remote  series  of  chambers, 
a  mile  from  the  main  shaft,  is  another 
opening  called  the  air-shaft,  up  whose 
perpendicular  distance  of  full  two  hundred 
feet,  like  spiders'  webs,  thinning  out  into 

193 


194  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

invisibility,  a  set  of  ladders  reaches,  by  zig- 
zag stages,  to  the  top. 

The  air-shaft  opens  into  a  field  where 
clover  blossoms  in  the  summer  time,  where 
cattle  browse,  and  a  spring  brook  runs ; 
and  down  it  comes  the  fresh,  pure  air,  to 
carry  health  and  life  to  the  rugged  toilers 
of  the  depths. 

Now,  this  current  of  air  must  be  con- 
trolled. It  must  not  waste  itself  in  devious 
and  erratic  wanderings  throughout  the 
mine,  but  must  pass  by  marked-out  chan- 
nels, across  the  breasts  of  chambers,  down 
the  airways  and  up  the  headings,  and 
through  the  passages,  wherever  men  need 
it,  till  it  finds  its  way  once  more  to  the  sun- 
light, drawn  out  in  the  draught  that  courses 
up  the  main  shaft. 

But  to  keep  those  currents  in  their  places, 
the  headings  are  here  and  there  boarded 
tightly  across,  and  a  rude  doorway  cut  in 
the  boarding,  and  a  door  placed  there  to 
be  opened  only  when  necessity  demands  it. 

On  the  main  headings  these  doors  are  in 
constant  use,  and  at  each  door  is  stationed 
a  boy  to  swing  it  open  when  a  trip  of  mine- 


DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY.  195 

cars  comes  rattling  up,  and  to  close  it  after 
the  cars  have  passed. 

So  Dick  was  a  door-boy  in  No.  6,  and 
his  cloor  was  where  the  slate-rock  airway 
branches  off  from  the  south  heading. 

Dick  was  somewhere  about  ten  years  old, 
nobody  knew  exactly.  His  father,  such  as 
he  had,  had  fled  in  disgrace,  and  his  mother 
had  died  —  died  of  grief  and  shame  and 
hard  work  and  a  broken  heart  —  about  the 
time  Dick  could  stand  alone  with  the  aid 
of  a  friendly  chair. 

Dick's  uncle  took  him  then  ;  but  Dick's 
uncle  was  a  man  depressed  by  poverty  and 
strong  drink,  and  Dick's  aunt  was  coarse 
and  careless,  with  eight  children  of  her 
own,  and  no  love  for  Dick.  So  the  poor 
boy  travelled  on  a  rough  road.  It  was  a 
\vretched  apology  for  a  home,  even  for  the 
children  of  the  mother  there,  but  for  this 
stray  lamb  it  was  only  a  place  where  he 
could  sleep  and  where  he  need  not  starve. 

Dick  was  put  into  the  mines  when  he 
was  well  along  in  his  eighth  year.  He  was 
a  frail  child,  not  big  enough  to  pick  slate, 
nor  strong  enough  to  drive  a  mule,  but 


196  DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY. 

old  enough,  certainly,  to  do  something  to 
help  pay  for  his  support.  And  so  Dick's 
uncle,  who  was  a  miner's  laborer  in  No.  6, 
had  found  a  place  there  for  him  to  attend 
door.  Dick  never  knew  what  wages  he 
earned ;  his  uncle  drew  them ;  they  were 
not  much  at  any  rate,  barely  enough  to 
keep  the  man  in  strong  drink. 

But  there  were  fifty  men  in  No.  6  who 
were  kinder  to  Dick  than  Dick's  uncle  was, 
—  men  who  always  had  a  pleasant  word 
for  him,  who  gave  him  oil  and  wick  for  his 
little  tin  lamp,  and  better  things  to  eat  than 
he  had  in  his  own  dinner-pail,  and  who 
would  not  allow  the  driver-boys  to  abuse 
or  bully  him.  So  that  Dick's  lot  was  not 
such  a  very,  very  hard  one  after  all.  He 
had  abundance  of  time  in  which  to  think, 
sitting  all  day  alone  in  the  darkness,  and 
sometimes  he  thought  he  would  be  happier 
if  he  could  only  spend  his  days  out  of  the 
mines,  out  of  the  damp,  smoky  air,  out  of 
the  loneliness  and  the  everlasting  gloom. 
He  would  be  willing  to  work  hard,  he  said 
to  himself,  very  hard,  if  he  could  only  be 
out  in  the  sweet  air  and  the  sunshine,  and 


DICK,    THE   DOOR- BOY.  197 

smell  the  fragrance  of  the  fields,  and  see 
the  flowers  blossom,  and  hear  the  birds 
sing,  and  listen  to  the  voices  of  happy 
children  in  their  play. 

And  now  it  was  winter,  and  four  nights 
ago  there  had  come  a  snow-storm,  and  the 
sleigh-bells  were  jingling  in  the  streets, 
and  the  boys  were  coasting  on  the  hills, 
and  Dick  had  not  even  seen  the  snow  by 
the  light  of  day. 

These  winter  mornings  they  were  at  the 
shaft  before  the  east  grew  red,  and  nights, 
when  they  came  out,  the  darkness  had  long 
covered  the  face  of  earth,  so  that  Sunday 
was  the  only  day  for  months  that  Dick 
could  ever  see  the  sun  make  light  and 
shadow,  or  the  white  snow  glisten  on  the 
distant  hills. 

It  was  the  day  before  Christmas.  Dick 
knew  Christmas  only  as  a  day  when  there 
was  no  work,  a  day  when  he  could  go  into 
the  streets  of  the  town  and  see  beautiful 
things  in  the  shop  windows  and  hear  the 
voices  of  merry  children;  and,  last  of  all,  it 
was  a  day  on  which  his  uncle  got  more 
than  commonly  drunk,  and  came  home  at 


198  DICK,    THE  DOOK-BOY. 

night  to  rave  through  the  house  like  a  mad 
man,  and,  like  as  not,  to  turn  them  all  out 
into  the  cold  and  snow. 

So  it  was  with  mingled  anticipations  of 
pleasure  and  of  punishment  that  Dick  sat  by 
his  door  in  the  mine  the  day  before  Christ- 
mas, and  thought  vaguely  of  what  he  should 
see  and  do  on  the  morrow. 

There  came  to  Dick's  ears  a  faint  sound 
of  voices,  and  away  up  the  heading  he 
saw  the  twinkling  of  many  lamps.  He 
looked  and  listened.  They  were  coming 
toward  him.  The  voices  grew  more  dis- 
tinct, and  some  of  them  were  women's 
voices,  and  by  and  by  a  clear,  ringing 
laugh  came  echoing  down  along  the  rough 
hewn  walls. 

Dick's  eyes  glowed  with  pleasurable 
anticipation  and  excitement.  He  loved 
the  sound  of  a  musical  voice.  One  holi- 
day he  had  followed,  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, a  party  of  young  girls  a  full  half- 
mile,  just  to  clrink  in  the  music  of  their 
words  and  laughter.  And  here  were  ladies 
coming,  four  of  them,  and  as  many  gentle- 
men, and  the  mine  boss  of  No.  6  was  with 
them  as  a  guide. 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  199 

They  had  gone  up  into  the  chambers 
from  the  north  heading,  and  across  through 
the  entrances  to  the  four-feet  fault,  then 
down  to  the  south  heading,  and  were  now 
on  their  way  to  the  foot  of  the  shaft. 

They  stopped  when  they  got  to  Dick's 
door,  and  the  ladies  sat  down  on  Dick's 
bench  to  rest.  It  was  a  bench  that  the 
mine  carpenter  made  one  day  for  Dick,  at 
the  "  dinner- wait,"  when  he  was  there  put- 
ting in  the  new  door. 

The  four  ladies  just  filled  it  up  ;  the 
stout,  middle-aged  one  occupying  at  least 
a  third  of  it,  while  one  of  the  young  men 
pretended  to  hold  up  the  end  on  which 
she  sat,  lest  it  should  suddenly  give  way. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  she  panted,  "  how  tired  I 
am,  and  what  a  jaunt  we  have  had  ;  and 
how  much  farther  is  it  to  that  horrid  shaft? 
and  will  it  be  so  frightful  going  up  as  it 
was  coming  down  ?  Oh,  what  a  dreadful 
sensation  ! "  and  the  stout  lady  took  on  a 
look  of  utter  despair. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  up  alone,  aunt 
Charlotte,"  said  the  young  man,  who  had 
ceased  supporting  the  bench,  and  now 


2OO  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BUY. 

stood  leaning  idly  against  the  wooden 
partition. 

"  Alone  ?  Oh,  dear  me,  no  !  I  should 
faint,  I  really  should ;  but  why  must  I  go 
up  alone  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,"  responded  the  inveter- 
ate tease,  "  it's  against  the  rules  of  the 
company  to  carry  more  than  twelve  hun- 
dred weight  on  an  up-going  carriage, 
and  "  — 

"  You  wretch  !"  broke  in  aunt  Charlotte, 
making  a  pass  at  him  with  a  walking-stick. 

He  started  back  in  pretended  fright, 
and  in  doing  so  stumbled  over  Dick,  who 
was  standing  in  a  dark  corner,  across  the 
heading. 

"  Hello  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
regaining  his  centre  of  gravity,  and  picking 
Dick  up,  "  did  I  hurt  you,  my  boy?" 

"  No,"  said  Dick;  "no  sir,  not  a  bit,  sir." 

"  Why,  what  a  little  boy ! "  exclaimed 
two  of  the  young  ladies  in  unison.  "  How 
ever  did  you  get  in  here?"  said  the  one 
nearest  Dick ;  "  And  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?  "  added  the  other. 

"  I  'tend  door,  ma'am,"  answered  Dick. 


DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY.  2OI 

"  Come  over  here,  and  let  me  see  you," 
said  the  stout  lady.  "Why,"  she  added, 
as  Dick  crossed  the  track  and  stood  in 
front  of  her,  "  he's  not  a  bad-looking  boy. 
What's  your  name,  sonny  ?  " 

"  Dick." 

"  Dick  what?" 

"  That's  all  the  name  7  has,  ma'am ;  but 
my  uncle,  he's  name  is  John  Bucld." 

Dick  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had 
his  cap  on,  and  snatched  it  from  his  head. 

"  Do  you  go  to  school  ?  "  continued  the 
questioning  aunt  Charlotte. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  Dick  said  slowly  ;  "I  has 
to  work." 

"  But  you  go  to  Sunday  school  on  Sun- 
day, do  you  not  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  ain't  got  no  clothes." 

"  And  did  no  one  ever  teach  you  the 
catechism  ?  " 

Dick  looked  around  helplessly.  "  No, 
ma'am,  I  guess  I  don't  know  what  that  is, 
but  I  ain't  never  been  taught  nothin',  'cept 
I  know  what  the  Dutch  is  for  '  I  don't  give 
a  darn!'" 

There  was  an  exclamation  of  horror  from 


2O2  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

aunt  Charlotte,  and  a  suppressed  titter 
from  the  young  ladies,  and  one  of  the  men 
said,  — 

"Well,  what  is  it,  my  boy,  what  is  it? 
speak  up,  don't  be  afraid,"  for  poor  Dick 
had  just  begun  to  realize  that  he  had  made 
a  mess  of  it  somehow,  and  was  digging 
with  his  heel  into  the  dirt  in  painful  em- 
barrassment. 

"Well,  out  with  it,  come,"  added  the 
young  man,  as  the  boy  blushed  and  hesi- 
tated, "  out  with  it !  "  Dick  was  afraid  to 
refuse,  now  that  he  had  gone  so  far,  and 
he  stammered  out,  "  Smack  me  nix  ouse" 
and  then  felt  that  he  would  be  willing  to 
die  on  the  spot ;  and  the  general  laugh  that 
followed  his  free  translation  did  not  tend 
to  make  the  poor  child  any  happier. 

But,  in  the  midst  of  the  merriment,  one 
young  lady,  a  bright,  dashing,  handsome 
brunette,  who  saw  Dick's  shame  and  de- 
spair, and  pitied  him,  hurried  to  the  rescue. 

"  Come,  now  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  this  is 
cruel.  You  shall  not  make  game  of  the  boy 
any  more ;  let  me  talk  with  him.  Here,  Dick, 
never  mind  ;  do  you  know  "  —  pausing  and 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  203 

trying  to  think  of  something  to  talk  about 
to  the  disconcerted  boy — "do  you  know 
that  to-morrow  is  Christmas?  and  have  you 
seen  the  pretty  things  in  the  shop  windows 
on  Front  Street  ?  and  don't  you  wish  you 
could  buy  them  and  give  them  away  ?  and 
if  you  could,  you  would  give  me  something, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am ;  yes,  indeed,"  assented  Dick 
with  an  empha'tic  nod  of  his  head ;  for  he 
had  already  forgotten  his  embarrassment, 
and  fallen  in  love  with  this  dark-eyed 
beauty,  whose  winning  smile  and  sympa- 
thetic voice  had  conquered  other  hearts  no 
less  easily  then  they  were  conquering 
Dick's. 

"  And  say,  Dick,"  she  went  on,  "  did  you 
ever  see  a  Christmas-tree,  a  nice  big  Christ- 
mas-tree, full  of  candles  and  flowers  and 
presents  and  every  thing  beautiful,  did  you, 
Dick  ?  " 

And  Dick's  eyes  and  face  were  aglow  as 
he  answered,  "  No,  not  like  that.  I  seen 
one  onct,  a  little  one,  a  little  bit  a  one,  in 
Smith  &  Simpson's  store,  in  the  big  win- 
dow, last  Christmas,  but  it  wasn't  like  that." 


2O4  DICfC,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

The  young  lady  was  becoming  as  much 
interested  in  the  boy  as  the  boy  was  in  her. 
There  was  something  in  his  face  she 
liked.  A  happy  thought  came  to  her : 
44  Now,  Dick,"  she  said,  "  I'll  tell  you  what 
you  must  do ;  you  must  come  to  my  house 
to-night,  and  I'll  show  you  the  most  beauti- 
ful Christmas-tree  you  ever  saw,  and 
there'll  be  something  on  it  for  you,  too. 
Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Why,  Julie  !  "  interrupted  one  of  the 
party,  "  What  will  mamma  say?" 

But  Julie  held  up  her  gloved  hand  im- 
periously, and  turned  to  Dick  again  :  "  Will 
you  come,  Dick  ?  You  know  where  Colonel 
Miles  lives,  don't  you  ?  and  I'm  Colonel 
Miles's  little  girl,  and  we  shall  expect  you  at 
eight  o'clock,  and  we'll  send  you  back  home 
in  a  sleigh  ;  will  you  come  ? " 

Dick  didn't  know  what  to  say.  A  vision, 
something  like  heaven,  flashed  across  his 
mind,  and  he  stammered  :  "  Yes,  ma'am  — 
yes  —  yes,  ma'am  ;  "  and  then,  looking  down 
at  his  poor,  ragged,  dirty  clothes,  he  cried 
out,  "  Oh,  I  can't,  I  can't  come,  lady,  I 
can't ! " 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  2O$ 

But  Julie,  taking  his  little  soiled  hand  re- 
assuringly, said,  "  Never  mind  the  clothes, 
Dick;  I'll  see  to  the  clothes;  you'll  trust  me 
to  arrange  that,  won't  you  ?  and  you'll  come ; 
you  know  where  to  come,  Dick  ?  " 

Dick  nodded.  Everybody  knew  where 
the  mansion  of  the  coal  king  was. 

And  then  Julie,  bending  down  and  look- 
ing intently  into  Dick's  eyes,  "  Promise 
me,  Dick,  that  you  will  come." 

And  Dick,  looking  back  solemnly  into 
her  eyes,  answered,  "  I  promise  you." 

Then  spoke  up  one  of  Julie's  lovers : 
"  Would  it  not  be  well,  fair  princess,  to  give 
your  knight  some  token  of  regard  that  he 
may  bear  through  storm  and  stress,  in 
deeds  of  daring  do,  and  bring  it  to  his 
lady  in  her  halls  to-night  to  prove  his 
fealty  and  faith  ? " 

"Thank  you,  Sir  Charles,  for  the  sug- 
gestion." And  without  more  adieu,  she 
stripped  the  glove  from  her  hand,  drew 
from  her  finger  a  ring  whose  peerless  gem 
shot  rays  of  glinting  light  into  the  black 
shadows  of  the  mine,  and  stooped  and 
pressed  it  into  Dick's  tiny  palm. 


206  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

"  Bring  me  this  ring  to-night,  Dick ; 
good-by ! "  then  turning  to  the  party : 
"  Come,  let's  go." 

There  had  been  open-eyed  astonishment. 
Some  one  said,  "  Julie,  are  you  mad  ?  "  but 
Julie  had  started  away  down  the  heading  in 
the  wake  of  the  mine  boss,  and  all  they 
could  do  was  to  follow  her  with  murmuring 
dissent. 

Then  one  who  would  be  still  smarter 
than  his  fellow,  shouted  out :  "  Why,  Miss 
Julie,  you  have  forgotten  to  kiss  your 
ardent  follower  farewell." 

"  I  thank  you,  too,"  she  said,  "  I  am 
under  great  obligation  to  both  of  you." 
And  she  turned  on  her  heel  and  went  back 
to  where  Dick  still  stood  in  mute  amaze- 
ment, and  bent  down  and  placed  her  arm 
around  his  neck,  and  raised  his  face  to 
hers,  and  pressed  a  long,  warm,  tender  kiss 
upon  his  childish  lips,  and  turned  and 
went  away. 

Dick  stood  there  like  one  in  a  dream, 
and  saw  the  lights  go  out,  one  by  one, 
around  the  curve  below  him,  in  the  head- 
ing; stood  motionless  and  speechless  for 


DICK,    THE  DOOR- BOY.  2O? 

full  ten  minutes,  till,  at  last,  the  struggling 
words  came  breaking  from  his  lips :  "  She 
—  she  —  kissed  me  ;  "  and  he  sank  down 
upon  the  bench  where  she  had  sat,  and 
wondered  if  he  had  been  in  heaven. 

No  one  had  ever  kissed  him  before,  not 
even  his  mother  that  he  ever  remembered  ; 
he  had  never  thought  that  any  one  ever 
would  kiss  him,  and  now  this  lady,  this 
sweet  lady,  this  beautiful  lady,  had  placed 
her  arm  around  his  neck,  the  soft  fur  of 
her  outer  wrap  had  touched  his  cheek,  he 
had  felt  her  hand  pressed  tenderly,  caress- 
ingly against  his  face,  and  her  lips  —  her 
lips  —  and  here  Dick  lost  his  breath  again, 
and  dwelt  for  another  little  space  in  heaven. 

You  may  not  think  it,  ladies,  you  need 
not  believe  it,  gentlemen,  but  that  woman's 
kiss  to  that  little  boy  was  sweeter,  dearer, 
more  magnetic  and  inspiring  than  any  kiss 
that  ever  sweetheart  gave  to  lover  under 
the  sun  or  stars.  It  filled  him,  thrilled 
him,  bound  him  in  great  bonds  of  loyalty 
to  the  one  human  being  who  had  first 
struck  the  dormant  chord  of  his  affection. 

A  miner  and  two  laborers  came  by  and 


2O8  DSC  A',    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

spoke  cheerily  to  Dick  and  passed  on,  but 
he  did  not  hear  them. 

A  trip  of  cars  came  roaring  down  the 
heading.  Dick  pulled  open  the  door,  me- 
chanically, to  let  it  pass.  The  driver-boy 
cracked  his  whip  over  the  ears  of  the 
lagging  mule,  and  shouted,  "  All  aboard, 
Dick ;  last  trip !  "  but  Dick  was  too  busily 
engaged  with  his  own  thoughts  to  heed 
him,  and  the  cars  went  thundering  on  into 
the  darkness. 

By  and  by  Dick  became  conscious  that 
he  was  clasping  something  in  his  hand,  and 
then  he  remembered  the  ring.  There  it 
was,  pressed  tightly  in  his  palm,  just  where 
she  had  laid  it.  He  awoke  from  his  reverie, 
and  began  to  study  out  the  best  method  of 
carrying  the  jewelled  circlet. 

He  would  not  have  dared  put  it  on  his 
finger,  even  had  his'  finger  been  large 
enough ;  his  one  pocket  was  not  fit  to  hold 
so  beautiful  a  thing,  and  he  feared  to  carry 
it  in  his  hand,  lest  by  some  unaccountable 
accident  it  should  be  lost. 

Finally  an  excellent  method  occurred  to 
him.  He  opened  the  breast  of  his  coarse, 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  2OQ 

woollen  shirt,  gathered  a  little  portion  of  it 
into  the  form  of  a  bag,  placed  the  ring 
therein,  and  pinned  it  fast  with  two  horse- 
shoe nails  worn  smooth  in  the  service  of 
picking  up  the  wick  of  his  lamp. 

He  buttoned  his  ragged  coat  across  it 
then,  and  felt  that  it  was  safe.  And  he 
knew  that  when  night  came  and  he  was  out 
of  the  mine  and  had  eaten  his  supper  and 
tidied  himself  up,  he  would  take  it  and  lay 
it  once  again  in  the  hand  of  the  dear  lady 
who  had  placed  such  unbounded  confidence 
in  the  honor  of  a  boy. 

He  had  no  more  doubt  that  he  would  do 
this  than  he  had  doubts  of  his  own  exist- 
ence. 

Dick  was  awake  now  ;  he  had  never  been 
so  fully  awake  in  his  life  before ;  every 
nerve  was  tingling  with  pleasurable  ex- 
citement and  anticipation,  and  he  looked 
forward  with  impatient  desire  to  the  hour 
when  he  might  stand  for  a  little  while  in 
the  light  and  warmth  and  beauty  that  sur- 
rounded the  person  of  the  lady  whom  he 
loved. 

A  long  time  he  waited,  and  wondered 


2IO  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

why  the  loaded  cars  did  not  come,  and 
grew  more  and  more  impatient  at  delay. 

He  had  been  accustomed  to  riding  in  to 
the  foot  of  the  shaft  on  the  last  car  of  the 
last  trip  at  night ;  they  always  told  him 
when  the  last  trip  came  by,  for  then  his 
day's  work  was  done. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  the 
driver  of  the  last  load  that  passed  had 
called  out  to  him ;  but  what  did  he  say  ? 
The  boy  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then 
the  words  came  back  to  him :  "All  aboard, 
Dick,  last  trip  !  " 

The  recollection  startled  him.  Suppose 
it  were  indeed  the  last  trip  and  they  were 
all  through  work  and  gone  home,  and  the 
carriage  had  been  hoisted  for  the  last  time ; 
what  then  ? 

Why  then,  a  night  in  the  mines  for  poor 
Dick. 

The  thought  would  have  been  appalling 
at  any  time,  but  this  night  it  was  doubly 
so. 

He  snatched  up  his  lamp  and  started  off 
down  the  heading  on  a  run,  and  never 
stopped  throughout  the  full  half-mile  until 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  211 

he  came,  all  breathless  and  trembling,  to 
the  foot  of  the  shaft. 

Alas,  it  was  too  true !  stillness  reigned 
there  ;  they  were  all  gone  ;  he  was  alone. 

He  ran  to  the  wire  that  leads  to  the  bell 
in  the  engine-house  at  the  surface,  and 
pulled  the  handle  again  and  again,  and 
many  times,  but  there  was  no  answer,  no 
sound. 

This  was  maddening.  He  ran  back  and 
stood  under  the  shaft  and  shouted  till  he 
was  hoarse,  and  hammered  the  side  of  the 
carriage  with  his  little  clinched  fist,  and 
then  in  the  fulness  of  bitter  disappoint- 
ment and  despair  he  sank  down  on  the 
hard,  wet  floor  of  the  mine  and  wept,  wept 
piteously  and  passionately  and  long. 

To  stay  in  that  black,  gloomy,  ghostly 
mine  all  night,  alone ;  it  wras  too  terrible 
for  thought.  And  the  lady,  the  sweet  lady, 
she  would  think  he  kept  the  ring,  and  she 
would  never  kiss  him,  nor  speak  to  him, 
nor  look  at  him  again. 

And  before  morning  came  he  would  die, 
die  of  loneliness  and  fright.  Even  now  he 
started  up  and  looked  around  him,  as  if 


212  DIC A',    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

half  expecting  to  see  some  awful  shape  arise 
out  of  the  gloom ;  but  he  saw  only  the  black 
walls  of  his  prison,  and  the  still  blacker 
depths  beyond  them.  Suddenly  something 
glided  out  before  him,  and  then  scampered 
away  into  the  darkness. 

"  Rats ! " 

Dick  started  up  in  terror.  If  there  was 
any  thing  he  was  in  mortal  fear  of,  it  was 
rats. 

These  great,  ugly,  savage  mine-rats  were 
to  him  a  constant  source  of  fear.  He  had 
seen  them  fight  a  driver-boy  once,  and  bite 
him  so  severely  that  he  never  came  into  the 
shaft  again. 

He  must  escape,  he  must  go  out,  he  felt 
that  he  should  go  mad,  if  he  had  to  stay 
there ;  he  looked  up  appealingly  to  the 
solid  roof;  he  ran  to  the  bell  wire  again,  and 
pulled  it  wildly,  once,  twice,  thrice,  a  dozen 
times ;  all,  all  in  vain.  Then  some  evil  angel 
put  it  into  his  head,  the  thought  came  like 
a  flash  of  light :  The  air-shaft,  the  ladders ! 

He  did  not  stop  an  instant  to  consider, 
but  snatching  up  his  lamp,  he  started  up 
north  heading,  at  his  greatest  speed. 


DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY.  21$ 

Dick  knew  where  the  air-shaft  opened 
on  the  outside,  and  once  he  had  been  to 
its  foot  in  the  mines,  and  had  seen  the 
ladders  reaching  up,  by  stages,  to  the  top, 
and  had  thought  what  a  toilsome  journey 
it  would  be  to  climb  them  to  the  surface. 
Now  he  hailed  the  recollection  as  a  piece 
of  rare  good  fortune,  that  promised  his 
release.  He  would  still  be  there  in  time, 
would  still  deliver  up  the  ring,  and  meet 
the  warm  approval  of  those  lustrous  eyes, 
and  maybe  —  who  would  dare  to  say  that 
she  would  not  —  maybe  she  would  give  him 
just  another  kiss. 

And  so  he  hurried  on  up  the  heading 
into  the  airway,  and  along  the  passage 
where  the  iron  track  was  laid,  till  he  came 
to  a  place  where  two  ways  met,  and  there 
he  stopped,  breathless  and  in  doubt,  for 
he  knew  not  which  road  to  follow.  He 
had  forgotten  the  route.  But  there  was 
no  time  to  lose ;  he  must  make  his  choice, 
and,  still  undecided,  he  plunged  in  to  the 
right. 

But  he  had  not  gone  far  before,  fearful 
that  he  was  on  the  wrong  road,  he  hur- 


214  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

riedly  retraced  his  steps,  and  took  the 
opening  to  the  left.  He  walked  more 
deliberately  now,  throwing  the  light  of  his 
lamp  around  him  as  he  went,  taking  mental 
note  of  every  object  that  he  passed  that 
might,  in  any  way,  indicate  his  proper 
course ;  stopping  at  the  branching  roads 
and  considering  carefully  which  one  to  fol- 
low, and  feeling  and  knowing,  that,  after 
all,  he  was  simply  walking  at  random,  and 
that  only  some  happy  chance  would  bring 
him  where  he  wished  to  go. 

By  and  by,  after  a  long,  long  walk,  he 
found  himself  in  the  abandoned  portion 
of  the  mine,  a  place  that  had  long  ago 
been  worked  out  and  deserted.  He  knew 
that  on  his  former  journey  to  the  air-shaft, 
he  had  passed  through  these  old  workings, 
and  so  he  kept  on. 

The  path  that  he  was  following  led 
through  an  entrance  and  down  a  chamber, 
and  along  a  passage,  where  the  echo  of 
pick  or  hammer  had  not  been  heard  for 
many  a  year. 

The  surfaces  of  the  pillars  were  dull  and 
rusty;  the  caps  and  rails  of  the  mine  car- 


DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY.  21$ 

track  were  decayed  and  crushed ;  the  few 
props  still  standing  were  covered  with  a 
damp,  dark  mould,  and  here  and  there  fes- 
toons and  masses  of  a  fungous,  wool-like 
growth  clung  to  them  in  snowy  whiteness. 

Go  where  you  will,  you  will  find  no  place 
so  desolate,  so  ghostly,  so  utterly  forbid- 
ding, as  the  deserted  and  decayed  galleries 
of  a  worked-out  mine. 

Dick  felt  that  strange  dread  of  the  unseen 
coming  on  him  again,  and  quickened  his 
pace.  It  seemed  as  though  something, 
some  dreadful  thing,  was  following  behind. 
Once,  and  once  only,  he  summoned  cour- 
age to  turn  and  look  back.  He  pushed 
open  a  rickety,  mould-covered  door  that 
barred  his  passage ;  the  rotten  wood  gave 
way  at  the  hinges,  and  the  door  fell  with 
a  crash  that  sent  the  echoes  moaning  and 
groaning  through  the  deserted  chambers, 
till  they  died  away  in  very  weakness. 

Dick's  pace  increased  as  his  fear  grew 
greater.  He  was  almost  on  a  run.  If  he 
could  only  get  out  of  these  old  workings, 
with  their  dreadful  suggestions,  and  ghostly 
shapes  and  unseen  presences  ! 


2l6  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

The  flame  of  his  lamp  was  growing  some- 
what dim.  He  stopped  to  pick  up  the  wick 
to  make  it  burn  brighter.  It  came  up  in  a 
spiritless  blaze.  He  threw  back  the  lid  and 
looked  in  ;  there  was  no  oil  there ;  it  had 
burned  out. 

In  five  minutes  he  would  be  in  total  dark- 
ness. .  The  sense  of  this  new  horror  came 
down  upon  him  like  a  burden.  He  turned 
quickly  to  retrace  his  steps  toward  the  main 
shaft,  but  a  second  thought  convinced  him 
of  the  utter  folly  of  such  an  effort,  and, 
scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  plunged 
ahead,  in  the  desperate  hope  of  getting  at 
least  beyond  the  borders  of  these  deserted 
chambers  in  the  lifetime  of  his  light. 

Moaning  piteously  as  he  ran,  his  weak 
limbs  trembling  from  exhaustion  and  fright, 
staggering  sometimes  from  side  to  side, 
shielding  the  blaze  that  each  moment  grew 
more  dim,  he  hurried  on  and  on ;  but  no 
matter  how  fast  or  how  far,  the  ghostly 
cerements  of  decay  were  still  around  him. 

At  last  the  tiny  flame  went  out.  and 
only  the  sparks  on  the  smouldering  wick 
remained. 


DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY.  21? 

Dick  could  not  see ;  he  stumbled,  fell  on 
the  lamp,  extinguished  the  last  spark, 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  stood  there 
alone  in  the  depth  of  the  earth,  in  im- 
penetrable darkness,  in  the  ghoul-haunted 
regions  of  desolation,  lost ! 

Dick's  limbs  gave  way  beneath  him  ;  he 
sank  to  the  floor  of  the  mine,  and,  with  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  lay  silent,  motionless, 
in  abject  terror. 

Few  people  know  what  absolute  dark- 
ness is.  The  darkest  night,  the  darkest 
room,  is  no  comparison.  It  is  only  in  the 
underground  galleries  remote  from  any 
shaft  or  passage-way  of  light  that  one  can 
appreciate  how  like  a  black  burden  it 
weighs  down  upon  the  human  conscious- 
ness. 

Few  people  know  what  absolute  silence 
is.  There  is  no  such  thing  on  the  face  of 
the  earth.  But  in  the  depths  of  the  mine 
where  there  is  no  life,  no  motion,  no 
change,  silence  is  terrible.  It  strains  and 
pains  the  ears,  it  assaults  the  nerves,  it  is 
simply  impossible  to  bear.  And  when  the 
forces  of  darkness  and  silence  unite  their 


2l8  DICK,    THE  DOOR- BOY. 

energies,  they  exert  a  pressure  that  no  con- 
scious human  being  can  long  endure. 

Dick  could  not  endure  it.  To  lie  there 
was  torture,  indescribable  torture.  To  try 
to  move  was  to  face  danger  even  more 
dreadful.  The  boy's  mind  was  beginning 
to  give  way  under  the  terrible  pressure.  He 
saw  strange  visions.  In  his  morbid  fancy 
the  black  air  around  him  was  peopled  with 
ghostly  shapes,  all  bent  on  his  destruction. 
He  started  up,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  and 
stared  wildly  into  the  darkness. 

He  raised  himself  to  his  feet  and  ran, 
ran  squarely  into  a  huge,  jagged  pillar  of 
coal,  with  a  shock  that  laid  him  prostrate, 
and  cut  and  bruised  his  limbs  and  body 
most  cruelly. 

But  in  a  moment  he  was  on  his  feet, 
groping  his  way  along  the  passage,  with 
his  hands  held  out  before  him,  stumbling, 
falling  at  times,  wounding  himself,  still 
pushing  on. 

But  in  all  his  haste  and  terror  he  never 
forgot  the  ring  in  the  little  pocket  made 
with  horseshoe  nails  in  the  breast  of  his 
woollen  shirt.  Through  all  the  strange 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  2ig 

vicissitudes  of  the  night  he  had  kept  it 
safe,  feeling  carefully  at  frequent  intervals 
to  know  if  it  still  was  there,  grasping  it 
even  now  with  his  little,  bleeding  hand  as 
he  staggered  on  in  the  darkness,  in  his 
wild,  desperate  effort  to  get  out  into  places 
of  the  mine  where  human  beings  had  that 
day  been,  and  where  these  infernal  shapes 
that  hovered  behind  him  and  around  him 
would  never  dare  to  follow. 

His  outstretched  hands  struck  a  flat 
surface  of  clammy  mould.  He  recoiled  in 
terror,  at  first,  not  knowing  what  it  was ; 
but  the  second  thought  told  him  it  was  a 
door.  He  pushed  it  open,  passed  through, 
and  felt  a  current  of  cold  air  drive  down 
upon  him.  That,  he  knew,  must  come  from 
the  air-shaft.  He  faced  the  current  and 
moved  on,  and  the  farther  he  went  the 
fresher,  stronger,  came  the  air  against  him. 
A  faint  hope  sprang  up  in  his  breast,  and 
visions  of  the  joys  that  he  might  yet  attain 
this  Christmas  Eve  began  to  come,  to  save 
his  mind  from  going  wholly  daft. 

And  so  he  hurried  on,  groping,  stagger- 
ing, stumbling,  falling,  cutting  his  poor, 


22O  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

naked  hands,  and  bruising  his  thinly  clad 
limbs,  fearing,  hoping,  praying,  and  coming 
at  last,  yes,  coming  at  last,  to  the  longed- 
for  goal,  the  air-shaft  of  No.  6. 

He  stood  beneath  it  with  his  hands  upon 
the  rail  of  the  ladder,  and  laughed  in 
delirious  exultation  ;  and  down  upon  his 
cut,  bruised,  bleeding  body  came  a  draught 
of  ice-cold  air  that  penetrated  to  the  marrow 
of  his  bones. 

He  did  not  think  of  the  arduous  task  that 
lay  before  him  still,  an  arduous  task,  in- 
deed, for  a  fresh,  strong  man :  he  only 
thought  that  at  the  top  of  those  ladders 
was  the  free  and  open  air ;  that  up  there 
the  stars  shone  and  the  wind  blew  ;  that 
up  there  were  houses  with  lights  in  them, 
where  people  lived ;  that  up  there  were 
human  beings  to  whom  he  might  yet  speak 
before  grim  death  should  clutch  him ;  and 
that  up  there  lived  the  lady,  the  beautiful 
lady  whose  sweet  kiss  had  been  the  one 
supreme  delight  his  young  life  had  ever 
known. 

It  was  almost  in  a.  spirit  of  gayety  that 
he  climbed  the  first  ladder,  felt  for  the  next 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  221 

one  till  he  grasped  the  rounds  securely, 
and  then  mounted  that,  and  so  up  the  third 
and  to  the  fourth,  first  in  one  direction, 
then  in  the  other,  careful  in  passing  from 
the  top  of  one  ladder  to  the  foot  of  the 
next  not  to  lose  his  hold,  climbing  slowly 
now,  very  slowly,  for  it  was  hard  work  and 
he  was  tired ;  he  confessed  it  to  himself, 
that  he  was  tired. 

On  the  fourth  ladder  he  reached  up  and 
found  that  a  round  was  missing.  He  felt 
for  the  next;  that  too  was  gone,  and  so  was 
the  next  and  the  next.  Then  he  climbed  up 
on  the  last  round  in  place  and  clung  to  the 
side  rail  of  the  ladder,  and  reached  across 
the  intervening  space,  and  drew  himself 
to  where  the  rounds  were  again  complete, 
and  so  went  toiling  upward  to  his  tryst. 

It  would  have  been  no  task  for  an  athlete, 
in  the  light  of  day,  to  have  covered  the 
space  once  filled  by  those  four  missing 
rounds,  but  for  that  child,  in  the  darkness 
of  night,  on  the  verge  of  exhaustion,  with 
the  grim  spectres  of  the  horrible  still  tug- 
ging at  his  heart,  it  yvas  more  than  wonder- 
ful, it  was  terrible. 


222  DICK',    THE   DOOR-BOY. 

The  ice-cold  water  had  dripped  on  the 
boy's  back  till  his  thin,  torn  clothing  was 
soaked  through  and  through.  He  stopped 
at  each  half-dozen  rounds  to  rest.  He  was 
so  tired,  he  began  to  wonder  if  he  could 
ever  reach  the  top. 

Looking  up  he  saw  a  square  of  light  just 
discernible  above  him,  and  knew  that  he 
must  be  nearing  the  surface.  He  nerved 
himself  to  renewed  effort.  But  the  cold, 
the  cold  was  terrible  ;  his  hands  were  get- 
ting numb  and  his  limbs  awkward,  and  the 
most  extreme  care  was  requisite  to  hold 
him  to  his  place. 

He  labored  on ;  he  reached  the  second 
ladder  from  the  top ;  he  knew  it,  he  could 
see  it,  his  eyes  were  once  more  of  use,  he 
was  coming  up  into  the  mild  light  of  night, 
from  the  impenetrable  darkness  of  the 
tomb.  His  heart  beat  fast  and  faster ;  he 
would  soon  be  out. 

But  oh,  how  cold,  how  cold  !  There  be- 
gan to  be  ice  on  the  rounds  of  the  ladder. 
There  was  one  spot  where  the  little  stream 
of  water  falling  down  the  shaft  struck 
across  the  second  ladder  from  the  top  and 


DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY.  22$ 

froze,  and  froze,  until  the  rounds  were 
swollen  almost  to  the  point  of  meeting; 
and  to  this  place,  in  his  ascent,  the  boy  had 
now  come. 

His  feet  slipped  awkwardly  on  the  rounds 
below ;  his  bare,  numb  hands  stuck  pain- 
fully to  the  ice  above  ;  he  dragged  himself 
to  the  very  middle  of  the  frozen  section, 
reached  out  to  grasp  another  round,  slipped, 
swayed,  clung  for  a  second  in  horrible  sus- 
pense, and  then  fell ! 

But  it  was  not  all  over  yet  with  poor 
Dick.  Caught  back  miraculously  from 
plunging  full  two  hundred  feet  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  shaft,  he  had  fallen  only  to  the 
foot  of  the  ladder  he  was  on,  and  lay  there, 
wedged  between  that  foot  and  the  solid 
rock  at  his  side,  stunned  and  unconscious, 
but  not  dead. 

After  a  little  time  he  revived.  He  knew 
where  he  was  and  what  had  happened, 
and  wondered  how  far  he  had  fallen.  He 
looked  up  and  saw  only  the  two  ladders 
above  him  still ;  he  looked  around  him  and 
found  that  his  position  was  perilous.  He 
was  in  much  pain.  With  an  effort  he  freed 


224  DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY. 

himself,  and  by  the  most  careful  exertion 
regained  his  feet. 

But,  what  now?  Which  way?  Above 
him  was  that  dripping  barrier  of  ice,  below 
him  were  the  haunting  horrors  of  the  mine, 
and  to  stay  where  he  was  would  be  to 
freeze  to  death  in  less  time  than  he  dared 
to  think  of. 

Then  he  looked  up  the  shaft  into  the 
dim  light  at  the  top,  and  with  all  sensibil- 
ities, save  hope  and  faith,  dulled  and  dead- 
ened by  the  extreme  of  physical  and  mental 
suffering,  he  began  once  more  the  perilous 
ascent. 

What  good  angel  held  his  feet  and 
grasped  his  hands  that  they  faltered  not,  nor 
failed  across  that  bridge  of  ice  ?  For,  cross 
it  he  did,  left  it  wet  and  glimmering  below 
him,  and  came  bravely  to  the  foot  of  the 
last  ladder  of  them  all. 

He  stopped  a  few  moments  there,  to 
catch  his  breath,  and  rub  his  mangled  limbs 
and  his  bleeding,  half-frozen  hands,  and 
then  he  started,  in  the  very  desperation  of 
reviving  hope,  to  climb  through  the  last 
dark  distance  that  stretched  between  him 
and  happiness. 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  22$ 

O  Dick,  look  up ;  forget  the  horrors  of 
the  mine,  the  blood-stained  journey  from 
the  depths  to  here  ;  be  strong,  have  faith, 
you  are  coming  to  the  top ;  you  are  on  the 
last  round  of  the  ladder ;  you  step  out  on 
the  platform  free  ;  free,  Dick  ;  think  of  it ; 
free,  in  the  open  air,  with  the  white  snow 
around  you,  and  the  great  sky  above  you, 
and  the  lights  of  dwellings  in  the  distance  ! 

Now,  then,  Dick  —  yes,  the  ring  is  safe 
—  now  then,  which  way  ? 

Only  one  way  for  Dick. 

He  knows  that  to  cross  the  field  to  a 
private  road,  to  follow  that  private  road  to 
the  great  highway,  and  then  go  up  the 
highway  to  the  first  iron  gate  on  the  left, 
will  bring  him  to  the  entrance  of  the  grounds 
of  Colonel  Miles. 

The  night  is  bitterly  cold ;  a  fine  snow 
comes  sifting  down,  blown  about  in  icy 
clouds  by  the  sharp,  high  wind. 

The  snow  already  fallen  is  almost  to  poor 
Dick's  knees ;  he  has  lost  his  cap  in  the 
mine,  and  his  head  is  bare ;  his  \vater- 
soaked  clothing  has  encased  him  in  a  cov- 
ering of  ice,  his  wounded,  frost-bitten  hands 


226  DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY. 

and  limbs  are  painful  in  the  extreme,  and 
his  toilsome,  staggering,  halting,  dreadful 
journey  through  the  untracked  snow,  is 
marked  with  drops  and  streaks  of  blood. 

But  he  does  not  think  now  of  his  mis- 
fortunes nor  his  sufferings,  nor  his  wander- 
ings in  the  mine,  nor  his  perilous  ascent ; 
one  great  desire,  and  only  one,  fills  all  his 
mind. 

If  he  can  but  get  to  where  she  is,  the 
lady  who  was  kind  to  him,  who  has  filled  his 
boyish  heart  with  adoration  ;  if  he  can  but 
show  her  that  her  faith  in  him  was  not  mis- 
placed, that  the  token  of  her  trust  is  safe ; 
if  he  can  but  speak  to  her,  and  hear  her 
voice,  and  look  into  her  wonderful  eyes  just 
once  again,  then  nothing  is  too  hard  to 
bear,  and  no  effort  too.  desperate  to  make, 
for  —  Dick  tries  to  speak  it  with  his  frost- 
bound  lips  —  for  "  she  kissed  me." 


The  Christmas  Eve  festivities  in  the 
noble  house  of  Colonel  Miles,  on  Forest 
Hill,  were  drawing  to  a  close.  Already 
had  the  first  good-nights  been  said,  and 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  22f 

the  little,  tired  and  sleepy  children,  loaded 
down  with  toys  and  kisses,  were  being- 
hurried  off  to  their  warm,  snug,  spotless 
beds. 

Many  a  time  that  evening  had  "  Colonel 
Miles's  little  girl "  drawn  aside  the  heavy 
curtains,  and  peered  out  into  the  stormy 
night  to  watch  the  coming  of  the  door-boy 
from  No.  6  shaft. 

"  He  cometh  not,  she  said," 

remarked  "Sir  Charles"  for  the  twentieth 
time  ;  and  Julie  was  fain  to  add,  at  last,  — 

"  I  am  aweary,  aweary ;  I  would  that  I  were  dead." 

She  had  borne  the  bantering  of  her  com- 
panions through  the  whole  evening,  bravely, 
and  with  high  spirits  and  quick  repartee, 
for  somehow  there  had  sprung  up  in  her 
heart  an  affection  for  the  child,  and  she 
believed  that  he  would  surely  keep  his  faith 
with  her  and  come  ;  his  clear,  blue  eyes 
were  so  honest  and  so  pure,  and  he  prom- 
ised her  with  such  simple  earnestness. 

Now  she  could  no  longer  hope  for  his 
coming,  but  she  had  a  thousand  excuses 


228  DICK,    THE   DOOR-BOY. 

for  him  still ;  the  night  was  so  stormy,  and 
the  way  so  long,  and  he  was  such  "  a  little 
boy." 

There  was  a  sound  of  shuffling  feet  in 
the  hall,  some  exclamations  of  astonish- 
ment, some  hurried  directions,  and  Julie 
rushed  out  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  alarm. 

The  burly  coachman  was  there,  with 
Dick  in  his  arms,  a  wretched,  wounded, 
half-frozen  little  body. 

"  Found  'im  just  hout  there  by  the  steps, 
'alf-buried  in  the  snow,  ma'am." 

They  bore  the  poor,  unconscious  child 
up  the  broad  stairway,  where  happier  chil- 
dren had  that  evening  sat  to  count  their 
many  treasures,  and  down  the  hall,  into 
a  room,  the  like  of  whose  magnificence 
the  boy  had  never  even  dreamed  of,  and 
dressed  his  wounds,  and  bound  up,  ten- 
derly, his  frozen  hands  and  limbs ;  and  the 
only  being  whom  he  ever  knew,  to  love, 
sat  by  and  held  her  breath,  the  while  his 
own  came,  faint  and  tremulous,  from  the 
wind-swept  shores  of  death. 

He  had  raised  his  bandaged  hand  and 
touched  his  bosom  many  times.  They 


DICK,    THE  DOOR-BOY.  22Q 

thought  he  was  in  pain  there,  and  they 
opened  his  woollen  shirt  and  found  the 
pocket  made  with  horseshoe  nails,  and 
in  it  still  the  golden,  gem-crowned  ring. 
And  they  looked  at  one  another  and 
turned  away  with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

Once  a  smile  crept  into  the  poor,  white 
lips,  and  they  began  to  move,  and  Julie, 
bending  down  above  them,  caught  the 
whispered,  almost  indistinguishable  words  : 
"  She  —  kissed  —  me." 

And  once  Dick  opened  wide  his  eyes 
and  saw  that  beautiful  face  above  him,  and 
the  face  drew  near,  and  the  lips  pressed 
his  again,  and,  with  the  kiss,  he  fell  asleep, 
a  look  upon  his  face  that  told  of  joy 
ineffable. 

After  that  he  never  looked  up  nor  spoke. 

And  when  the  gray  light  that  ushered  in 
the  holy  Christmas  morning  came  creeping 
up  the  eastern  sky,  the  child's  soul  went  up 
from-  the  gloomy  depths  of  earthly  suffer- 
ing, to  live  forever  in  the  glad,  sweet,  holy 
light  of  everlasting  day. 


There  are  about  4,000,000  boys  in  the  United  States  from  10  to  16  years 
of  age. 

Set  before  these  young  people  a  high  aim  and  purpose  in  life  and  you  de- 
velop a  healthful  ambition  to  meet  and  overcome  the  obstacles  with  which  all 
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A~nong  the  influences  to  this  end  none  are  more  helpful  than  good  books, 
whiu'i  inculcate  by  force  of  notable  example,  the  worth  of  patient  industry,  strict 
adherence  to  integrity,  and  the  adoption  of  Christian  principle  as  the  elements 
of  success. 

A.  book  that  fully  meets  these  requirements  is 

Poor  Boys  Who  Became  Famous. 

BY  MRS.  SARAH   K.  LOLTOX. 


Fully  Illustrated  with  24  Portraits.         -         I2mo,  $1.50. 


Short  biographical  sketches  of  George  Peabody,  Michael  Faraday, 
Samuel  Johnson,  Admiral  Farragut,  Horace  Greeley,  William  Lloyd 
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behind  an  imperishable  record. 

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pelled to  commend  so  highly  to  young  readers,  aid  especially  to  boys." 
—N.  Y.  Observer. 

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to  perceive  at  once  the  salient  features  of  a  character  or  life,  and  to 
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THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO., 
13  Astor  Place,  New  York. 


"  The  work  of  an  elegant  and  appreciative  writer,  r>Ao  has  admirably 
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GIRLS  WHO  BECAME  FAMOUS. 

BY   MRS.    SARAH   K.    BOLTON. 


With  Portraits.      1'iiiio.      81.50. 


Biographical  sketches  of  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  George  Eliot,  Helen 
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Companion  Hook  to  "1'oor  Roys  Who  Became  r>un»us." 

"  Mrs.  Bolton  is  a  writer  of  reputation,  and  she  has  done  her  sex  a 

lias  been  accompli 
literature,  in  art,  in  reform,  aud  in  general  service  to  humanity."  — 


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"  Fascinatingly  written,  and  embellished  with  excellent  portraits 
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Baptttt. 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  AND  COMPANY, 

13  Astor  Place,  New  York. 


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people,  is  worth  a  score  of '  blood  and  thunder '  fictions  ;  it  is  a  volume 
worthy  a  place  in  the  library  of  every  boy  and  girl." 

—  WASHINGTON  POST. 

THE  BOYS' BOOK  OF  FAMOUS  RULERS. 

BY   LYDIA   HOYT    FARMER. 

LIVES    OF    AGAMEMNON,    JULIUS    C.ESAR,    CHARLEMAGNE,    FRED- 
ERICK THE  GREAT,  RICHARD  CCEUR  BE  LION,  ROBERT  BRUCE, 
NAPOLEON,  AND   OTHER   HEROES   OF   HISTORIC   FAME. 


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13mo.    Price,  S1.5O. 


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intended." —  Chicago  Standard. 

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illustrations  of  eventful  scenes."  —  Boston  Globe. 

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—  Hartford  Times. 

"  One  of  the  best  publications  of  the  kind  that  we  have  seen." 

—  Ohio  State  Journal. 


THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  AND  COMPANY, 

13  Astor  Place,  New  York. 


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